
•^ 



'm£mm 



. v^ Hobert Burns's 
,v?^ poems. 







SELECTED POEMS 



OF 



/ 

ROBERT BURNS 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH AND NOTES 



NATHAN HASKELL DOLE 



NEW YORK : 46 East 14TH Street. '^ ^ "^ 
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY. 
BOSTON : 100 Purchase Street. 



Copyright, 1892, 
By T. Y. Crowell & Co. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Biographical Sketch 5 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 57 

Tam o' Shanter 64 

The Twa Dogs 71 

The Brigs of Ayr 79 

Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson . . 88 

The Vision 93 

To a Mountain Daisy 102 

To A Mouse 104 

A Prayer, in the Prospect of Death . . . 106 

Stanzas on the Same Occasion 107 

To a Louse 108 

Address to the Unco Guid no 

Lament of Mary Queen of Scots 113 

The Lass o' Ballochmyle 115 

John Barleycorn 116 

Man was made to Mourn 119 

Address to the Deil 122 

Farewell to Nancy 127 

Afton Water 128 

The Banks o' Doon 129 

Version printed in the Musical Museum . . 130 

Hark! the Mavis 131 

A Bard's Epitaph 132 

To Dr. Blacklock 133 

iii 



IV TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Epistle to a Young Friend 136 

Kenmure's on and awa 139 

The Sodger's Return 140 

My Nanie, O • 142 

Logan Braes 144 

Address to the Toothache 145 

AuLD Lang Syne 146 

Bannockburn 147 

Highland Mary 148 

To Mary in Heaven 150 

Prayer for Mary 151 

My Ain Kind Dearie O 152 

My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing .... 153 

John Anderson My Jo 153 

O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast .... 154 

A Red, Red Rose 155 

Mary Morison 155 

Bonny Lesley 156 

Coming through the Rye 157 

For a' That and a' That 158 

My Bonny Mary 160 

Young Jessie 160 

Duncan Gray 161 

On Sensibility 162 

The Highland Laddie 163 

Here's a Health to Them that's awa . , 164 

My Heart's in the Highlands 165 

I Love My Jean 166 

It is na, Jean, Thy Bonny Face 167 

The Blissful Day 167 

A Rose-bud by My Early Walk 168 

M'Pherson's Farewell 169 

Green Grow the Rashes 170 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. V 

PAGE 

Let not Woman e'er complain 171 

O WERE MY Love yon Lilac Fair 172 

The Deil's awa' wi' th' Exciseman . . . . 173 

The Highland Lassie 173 

The Blue-eyed Lassie 175 

Peggy's Charms 176 

Altho' Thou maun never be Mine . . . . 176 

Young Jockey 177 

What can a Young Lassie do wi' an Old Man? 178 
The Auld Farmer's New-year Morning Sal- 
utation to His Auld Mare, Maggie . . 179 

Sketch 183 

Weary fa' You, Duncan Gray 183 

The Farewell 184 

Elegy on the Year 1788 186 

Sketch. — New- year Day, 1790 187 

Sketch 189 

Song. — When First I saw Fair Jeanie's Face 191 

The Heather was blooming 192 

The Blude Red Rose at Yule may blaw . . 193 

O Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet 194 

Here's to Thy Health, My Bonny Lass . . 195 

Hey, the Dusty Miller 196 

There was a Bonny Lass 197 

O LAY Thy Loop in Mine, Lass 197 

On a Bank of Flowers 198 

Young Peggy 199 

The Bonny Blink o' Mary's Ee 201 

Out over the Forth 201 

The Ploughman 202 

O May, Thy Morn 203 

Bonny Bell 204 

The Banks of Nith 204 



VI TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

O Bonny was yon Rosy Brier 205 

The Bonny Wee Thing 206 

Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks .... 206 

To a Lady 207 

Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer . . 208 

To a Haggis 210 

On Seeing a Wounded Hare 212 

Whistle, and I'll come to You, My Lad . . 213 

Poem on Pastoral Poetry 214 

Sweet fa's the Eve 216 

O, for Ane and Twenty, Tam ! 216 

Address to Edinburgh 217 

Written in Friars-Carse Hermitage . . . 220 

A Grace before Dinner 222 

On Scaring some Water Fowl 222 

There was a Lass 224 

The Birks of Aberfeldy 226 

Country Lassie 227 

Address to the Woodlark 228 

Now Westlin Winds and Slaught'ring Guns 229 
Verses on the Late Captain Grose's Pere- 
grinations through Scotland .... 231 

Epistle to William Simpson 233 

Verses on the Destruction of the Woods 

near Drumlanrig 239 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water . . 241 

The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie 244 

Poor Mailie's Elegy 247 

How Long and Dreary is the Night ! . . . 249 

The Winter of Life 249 

Contented wi' Little 250 

Wandering Willie 251 

My Nannie's awa' 252 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. Vil 

PAGE 

O Lassie, art Thou Sleeping yet? .... 252 

Women's Minds 254 

The Cardin' o't 255 

Simmer's a Pleasant Time 256 

Braw Lads of Galla Water 257 

Galla Water 258 

AuLD Rob Morris 258 

Blythe was She 259 

Oh, Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut . . . 260 

Bess and Her Spinnin-wheel 261 

For the Sake of Somebody 262 

The Lovely Lass of Inverness 263 

Up in the Morning Early 264 

There's a Youth in this City 265 

The Rigs o' Barley 265 

The Dumfries Volunteers 267 

Groves of Sweet Myrtle 268 

Last May a Braw Wooer 269 

Meg o' the Mill 270 

Oh, were I on Parnassus' Hill 271 

Robin 272 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 



' Robert Burns was born January 25, 1759. 

His father, William Burns, or Burness, was of the North of 
Scotland where, at Kincardineshire, his ancestors for many 
generations had been farmers. He was " thrown by early 
misfortunes on the world at large," says the poet in his 
biographical letter to Dr. Moore, " where, after many years' 
wanderings and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large 
quantity of observation and experience, to which I am in- 
debted for most of my little pretensions to wisdom. I have 
met with few who understood men, their manners and their 
ways, equal to him; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and 
headlong, ungovernable irascibility, are disqualifying cir- 
cumstances; consequently, I was born a very poor man's 
son." 

After several years' residence near Edinburgh, he took 
seven acres of land in Doonside with the intention of 
becoming a nurseryman, but was engaged as gardener 
and overseer to Mr. Ferguson of Doonholm. He retained 
the land, and on one spot of it built a clay "biggin" or 
cottage, divided into a kitchen with a recess for a bed, 
and a "spence" or sitting-room with a fireplace and 
chimney. Gilbert Burns remarked, long afterwards, that 
when it was altogether cast over inside and outside with 
lime it had " a neat and comfortable appearance." Here 

5 



o BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

he brought his bride, Agnes Brown, the daughter of a 
Carrick farmer. 

Robert was their first-born. When he was seven years 
old his father became tenant of a small farm belonging to 
Mr. Ferguson, at Mount Oliphant, not far from the mouth 
of *' Bonnie Doon." The land was poor; and after the 
death of their "generous master" they "fell into the 
hands of a factor," who, says Burns, sat for the picture 
that he drew of one in his tale of " Twa Dogs." 

Still more trying was their life at Tarbolton on the Ayr, 
where they took a larger farm in 1777. At first they 
lived comfortably; but a difference as to terms arose, and 
" after three years' tossing and whirling in the vortex of 
litigation," the suit was decided in favor of the landlord, 
and William Burness, whose health and spirit were en- 
tirely broken, died in February, 1784, "just saved from 
the horrors of a jail." 

Robert began to go to school when he was six years 
old. Afterwards Mr, John Murdoch became his teacher. 
In his recollections Murdoch says that Robert and Gilbert 
were generally near the head of their classes, " even when 
ranged with boys by far their seniors." He says that 
they committed to memory the hymns and other poems of 
Masson's collection with uncommon facility; but strangely 
enough the two boys were behind all the others in music. 
"Robert's ear," says Murdoch, "was remarkably dull, 
and his voice untunable. It was long before I could get 
them to distinguish one tune from another;" and, in con- 
clusion, he declares, that "certainly if any person who 
knew the two boys had been asked which of them was the 
most likely to court the Muses, he would surely never 
have guessed that Robert had a propensity of that kind." 

"Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings," 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 7 

says Burns, *'I made an excellent English scholar; and 
by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a 
critic in substantives, verbs, and particles. In my infant 
and boyish days, too, I owe much to an old woman who 
resided in the family, remarkable for her ignorance, cre- 
dulity, and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest 
collection in the country of tales and songs concerning 
devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spun- 
kies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, 
cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other 
trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry. . . . 
The earliest composition that I recollect taking pleasure 
in was 'The Vision of Mirza,' and a hymn of Addison's 
beginning, ' How are thy servants blest, O Lord ! ' " 

He says that the first books that he read in private 
were "The Life of Hannibal," lent to him by Mr. Mur- 
doch, and the " History of Sir William Wallace," which 
he procured from a neighboring blacksmith; and declares 
that Hannibal gave his young ideas such a turn, that he 
used to strut in raptures up and down after the recruiting 
drum and bagpipe, and wish himself tall enough to be a sol- 
dier; while the story of Wallace poured a Scottish prejudice 
into his veins which would boil along there till the flood- 
gates of life shut in eternal rest. 

Salmon's and Guthrie's geographical grammars told him 
all that he knew of " ancient story." His ideas of 
"modern manners, of literature and criticism," he got 
from the " Spectator." Pope's works, some of Shakspere's 
plays, Locke's "Essay on the Human Understanding," 
Allan Ramsay's works, Taylor's "Scripture Doctrine of 
Original Sin," a select collection of English songs, Her- 
vey's "Meditation," and a few other books, formed the 
whole of his early reading. 



8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

The collection of songs, he says, was his vade mecum ; 
*' I pored over them driving my cart, or walking to labor, 
song by song, verse by verse: carefully noting the true, 
tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian. I am 
convinced," he adds, " I owe to this practice much of my 
critic craft, such as it is." 

After Mr. Murdoch, who was, unfortunately, addicted 
to the use of ardent spirits, left Mr. Oliphant he some- 
times came back to make visits, and on one occasion read 
Shakspere's "Titus Andronicus;" and it is said that 
" Robert's pure taste rose in a passionate revolt against its 
coarse cruelties and unspiritual horrors." Murdoch also 
helped him to a small knowledge of French. But when a 
lady once asked him if he had studied Latin, he replied: 

"All I know of Latin is contained in three words, 
omnia vincit Amor ! " 

After the removal of the family to Lochlea he received 
from his father yearly wages of seven pounds sterling. 
In order to give his manners a brush, as he expresses it, 
he at that time began to go to a country dancing-school. 
His father had "an unaccountable antipathy against such 
meetings;" and indeed he had reason to tremble for his 
son. On his death-bed, when Robert was present alone 
with him and his sister, Mrs. Begg, he confessed that 
there was one of his family for whose future he feared. 
Robert asked: "Oh father, is it me you mean?" and 
when the old man said it was, Robert turned to the win- 
dow and burst into tears. 

Burns had already been initiated into the delirious 
society of love and had "committed the sin of rhyme." 
When he was about sixteen his partner in the harvesting 
was Miss Nellie Kilpatrick, known as "Handsome 
Nell," a girl a year younger than himself. "Among her 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 9 

other love-inspiring qualities, she sang sweetly, and it was 
to her favorite reel" that he first attempted to fit words. 
It was the song beginning : 

" O, ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass, 
Ay, and I love her still, 
And whilst that virtue warms my breast 
I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Fal lal de ral, etc." 

His own criticism upon it in his Commonplace Book is 
interesting and curious. After taking it up stanza by 
stanza he adds: "I remember I composed it in a wild 
enthusiasm of passion; and to this hour I never recollect 
it but my heart melts, my blood sallies at the remem- 
brance." 

The dancing-school offered further opportunities in 
what the Scotch call sweet-hearting. Burns, who saw no 
way to rise above his surroundings and yet had a vast 
ambition, became discouraged and simply drifted with the 
tide. He says of this period : 

"My heart was completely tinder, and was eternally 
lighted up by some goddess or other; and, as in every 
other warfare in this world, my fortune was various, some- 
times I was received with favor, and sometimes I was 
mortified with a repulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap- 
hook, I feared no competitor, and thus I set absolute want 
at defiance; and as I never cared farther for my labors 
than while I was in actual exercise, I spent the evenings 
in the way after my own heart." 

All this was a dangerous but powerful training for the 
profession of minnesinger. 

When he was eighteen years of age, he studied men- 



lo BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

suration, surveying, drilling, and kindred branches of 
practical knowledge, under the parish schoolmaster of 
Kirkoswald in the district of Karrick, where he spent 
some time, probably with his mother's relatives. 

The schoolmaster, whose name was Rodger, was 
"skilled in mathematics," but possessed "a narrow 
understanding and little general knowledge." He dis- 
covered that Burns and a youth called "Willie" were in 
the habit of holding "disputations or arguments on specu- 
lative questions." This seemed to him absurd; and one 
day, when the whole school was assembled, he went up to 
the two young men and began very sarcastically to twit 
them on their debates. The other scholars who had been 
invited to join in these intellectual disputes, but who pre- 
ferred ball or shinty, burst into uproarious laughter at the 
teacher's wit. 

"Willie" replied that he was sorry to find that Robert 
and he had given offence; that it was unintentional; 
indeed, they supposed he would be pleased to know of 
their attempts to improve their minds. Rodger asked what 
they disputed about, and " Willie " replied that their ques- 
tion that day had been whether a great general or a 
respectable merchant were the most valuable member of 
society. The master, laughing contemptuously at the 
"silliness" of such a question, said there could be no 
doubt about it, and was drawn into an argument by Burns, 
who easily got the better of him. Failing to regain his 
superiority Rodger fell into such a "pitiable state of vex- 
ation " that he had to dismiss the school. 

But it was not altogether mental improvement that he 
found at this "noted school." That wild coast was the 
resort of smugglers. He made good progress in his math- 
ematics, but he says he made greater progress in the 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. ii 

knowledge of mankind : "The contr?band trade was at 
that time very successful, and it sometimes happened to 
me to fall in with those who carried it on. Scenes of swag- 
gering riot and roaring dissipation were, till this time, new 
to me; but I was no enemy to social life. Here, though I 
learnt to fill my glass, and to mix without fear in a 
drunken squabble, yet I went on with a high hand with 
my geometry till the sun entered Virgo, a month which is 
always a carnival in my bosom; when a charming fillette, 
who lived next door to the school, overset my trigonome- 
try, and set me off at a tangent from the spheres of my 
studies." 

The image of that "modest and innocent girl" effect- 
ually prevented any more attempts to measure the sun's 
altitude. Study was useless. But " the ebullition of 
that passion" was only a song, one of his most beauti- 
ful, beginning "Now westlin winds and slaught'ring 
guns." 

On his return to Tarbolton he still further indulged 
his love of discussion by joining with his brother Gilbert 
and five other young men in establishing a debating 
society, where the young people set for themselves such 
questions as this: " Suppose a young man, bred a farmer, 
but without any fortune, has it in his power to marry either 
of two women: the one a girl of large fortune, but neither 
handsome in person nor agreeable in conversation, but 
who can manage the household affairs of a farm well 
enough; the other of them, a girl every way agreeable in 
person, conversation, and behavior, but without any for- 
tune: which of them shall he choose? " 

At Tarbolton also, while still under his father's 
roof. Burns wrote several of his finest and sweetest 
songs : 



12 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

" Behind yon hill, where Lugar flows, 
Mang moors an' mosses many O ! 
The wintry Sun the day has clos'd, 
An' I'll awa' to Nannie O." 
and 

" It was upon a Lammas night, 
When corn rigs are bonnie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 
I held awa' to Annie: " 

and more than one in praise of the Tarbolton lasses: 

"There's few sae bonnie, nane sae gude. 
In a' King George' dominion." 

While still at Tarbolton, Burns was induced by his 
friend, John Rankine, to join St. Mary's Lodge of Free- 
masons; and he became like Mozart, and about the same 
time, an enthusiastic member of the order. 

When he was about twenty-three years old,' he con- 
ceived the idea of going into the flax business; so he went 
to live with a flax-dresser named Peacock, a relative of 
his mother's, in the neighboring town of Irvine. 

Among his acquaintances at Irvine, which was a small sea- 
port town, were also smugglers, whose influence upon him 
was not good; and his chief friend was a young fellow 
whom he called " a very noble character but a hapless son 
of misfortune." This " noble fellow," whose mind " was 
fraught with independence, magnanimity, and every manly 
virtue," was the only man. Burns confesses, who was a 
greater fool than himself where woman was the presid- 
ing star. " He spoke of illicit love with the levity of a 
sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with horror. Here 
his friendship did me a mischief; and the consequence was 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 13 

that soon after I resumed the plough, I wrote the ' Poet's 
Welcome.' " 

The illegitimate daughter thus welcomed bore a striking 
resemblance to Burns. She married Mr. John Bishop of 
Polkemmet, and died in 181 7. It is proper to add that the 
poet was afterwards " stung by a manly sorrow " at the 
tone in which this poem to his shame was written. 

Doubtless his recklessness was partly due to the fact 
-that he had just been disappointed in his hopes of marry- 
ing Miss Ellison Begbie, "an amiable, intelligent, but 
not particularly handsome girl," in the service of a family 
on the banks of the Cessnock. To her he wrote the song : 

" On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells; 

Could I describe her shape and mien;" 
Our lasses a' she far excels. 

An' she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 

He was deeply in love with her, but her affections were 
given to another. 

He was at this time suffering from a nervous disorder, 
and his constitutional hypochondria, inherited from his 
father, was intensified by the depressing effects of dissipa- 
tion. His gloomy state of mind may be seen in certain 
passages of a letter written to his father two days after 
Christmas, 1781 or 1782. 

"Honored Sir, 

" My health is nearly the same as when you were here, 
only my sleep is a little sounder, and on the whole I am 
rather better than otherwise, though I mend by very slow 
degrees. The weakness of my nerves has so debilitated 
my mind that I dare neither review past events, nor look 
forward into futurity; for the least anxiety or perturbation 



14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

in my breast produces most unhappy effects on my whole 
frame. Sometimes, indeed, when for an hour or two my 
spirits are a Httle lightened, I glimmer a little into futurity; 
but my principal, and indeed my only pleasurable employ- 
ment, is looking backwards and forwards in a moral and 
religious way. I am quite transported at the thought that 
ere long, perhaps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu 
to all the pains, and uneasinesses, and disquietudes of this 
weary life; for I assure you I am heartily tired of it, and 
if I do not very much deceive myself, I could contentedly 
and gladly resign it. . . . As for this world, I despair of 
ever making a figure in it. I am not formed for the bustle of 
the busy, nor the flutter of the gay. I shall never again be 
capable of entering into such scenes. Indeed, I am alto- 
gether unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. I foresee 
that poverty and obscurity probably await me, and I am in 
some measure prepared, and daily preparing, to meet 
them. I have but just time and paper to return you my 
grateful thanks for the lessons of virtue and piety you have 
given me, which were too much neglected at the time of 
giving them, but which I hope have been remembered ere 
it is yet too late. ..." 

Three days later, while he and some of his friends 
"were giving a welcome carousal to the new year," the 
shop was set on fire and totally destroyed, so that he " was 
left like a true poet, not worth a sixpence." He attributed 
it to "the drunken carelessness" of his partner's wife. 
His partner he called "a scoundrel of the first water, who 
made money by the mystery of thieving ! " 

A year or two afterwards, in March, 1784, he wrote in 
his "Commonplace Book: " 

"There was a certain period of my life that my spirit 
was broke by repeated losses and disasters, which threat- 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 15 

ened, and indeed effected, the utter ruin of my fortune. 
My body, too, was attacked by that most dreadful distem- 
per, a hypochondria, or confirmed melancholy. In this 
wretched state, the recollection of which makes me yet 
shudder, I hung my harp on the willow-trees, except in 
some lucid intervals, in one of which I composed the 
""Prayer: Under the Pressure of Violent Anguish," which 
begins: 

" O Thou great Being ! what Thou art 
Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 
Are all Thy works below." 

But at last the cloud passed, as is shown by the cheer- 
fulness of his extempore lines which are referred to the fol- 
lowing April : 

"O why the deuce should I repine, 
And be an ill foreboder? 
I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

I gat some gear wi' meikle care, 

I held it weel thegither; 
But now it's gane and something mair, 

I'll go and be a sodger." 

After his return to Lochlea, he and his brother Gilbert 
hired a farm of one hundred and nineteen acres at Moss- 
giel, near the village of Mauchline, at an annual rental of 
ninety pounds. Three months later their father died, leav- 
ing his affairs in utter ruin. " His all," says Burns, "went 
among the hell hounds that growl in the kennel of justice." 



i6 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

As his sons and two married daughters ranked as creditors 
for arrears of wages, they saved a little money from the 
wreck, and the whole family moved to Mossgiel in March, 
1784. Gilbert Burns bears witness to his brother's 
steadiness and industry during their joint partnership, but, 
after all, the drudgery of farming was irksome to a poet: it 
was Pegasus harnessed to a plough. 

He expresses his feelings in a rhymed epistle to his 
friend David Sillar, "a brother poet, lover, ploughman, 
and fiddler: " 

"While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw. 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down,, to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely, westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the Great-folk's gift. 
That live sae bien and snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side; 
But hanker and canker. 
To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's pow'r. 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd; 

How best o' chiels are whyles in want, 

While coofs on countless thousands rant. 

It's no in titles nor in rank; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 17 

To purchase peace and rest; 
It's no in making muckle, mair : 
It's no in books, it's no in lear, 

To make us truly blest : 

If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 
Could make us happy lang; 
The heart ay's the part ay. 

That makes us right or wrang. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes. 

And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 

The lover an' the frien'; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 

It warms me, it charms me, 
To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me. 
And sets me a' on flame ! " 

The "darling Jean," celebrated in his "Epistle to 
Davie," and in many another poem, was Jean Armour, a 
" comely country lass," whom he met at a penny wedding 
at Mauchline. They chanced to be dancing in the same 
quadrille when the poet's dog sprang to his master and 



1 8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 

almost upset some of the dancers. Burns remarked that 
he wished he could get any of the lasses to like him as well 
as his dog did. 

Some days afterward, Jean, seeing him pass as she was 
bleaching clothes on the village green, called to him and 
asked him if he had yet got any of the lasses to like him 
as well as his dog did. 

That was the beginning of an acquaintance that colored 
all of Burns's life. 

In the spring of 1786 he learned that she was about to 
become a mother. 

In Scotland at that time a license and a ceremony were 
not required in order to legalize a marriage. Burns, who 
was inclined to be honorable, gave Jean a written acknowl- 
edgment of marriage — a sufificient reparation in the eyes 
of th^ law. 

But the master-mason, her father, compelled her to 
destroy the paper and to have nothing more to do with 
Burns, who was then in the straits of poverty owing to a 
succession of bad crops, and who was with some reason 
looked upon by .the pious inhabitants of that parish as 
little better than a Pariah. 

This was in April. It was under the gloom of this bit- 
ter trouble that Burns wrote his " Lament occasioned by 
the Unfortunate Issue of a Friend's Amour: " 

" O thou pale Orb, that silent shines, 

While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 
Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 

And wanders here to wail and weep ! 
With woe I nightly vigils keep. 

Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam; 
And mourn, in lamentation deep, 

How hfe and love are all a dream." 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 19 

The friend was of course his best friend and worst enemy 
— himself. 

Burns was really very fond of his "Bonnie Jean," and 
he wrote that tho' he had not a hope or a wish to make 
her his after her conduct, yet when he was told that " the 
names were out" of the informal marriage contract, "his 
heart died within him and his veins were cut with the 
news." 

Emerson says: Nature's darlings, the great, the strong, 
the beautiful, are not children of our law; do not come out 
of the Sunday school, nor weigh their food, nor punctu- 
ally keep the commandments. 

So much the worse for them. 

The destruction of the paper did not, of course, absolve 
Burns, but he determined to leave Scotland forever. He 
entered into negotiations with Dr. John Hamilton with the 
view of going out to Jamaica as book-keeper on a plantation 
there. 

While this matter was pending, and while he was still 
sore at the treatment which he had received from the 
Armours, Mary Campbell, known to Fame as " Hieland 
Mary," "a most sprightly, blue-eyed creature of great 
modesty and self-respect," who had been in the service of 
his friend and landlord, Gavin Hamilton, showed so mudi 
sympathy with him, that Burns, considering himself free, 
offered to make her his wife. And she agreed to go with 
him to Jamaica. She left Mauchline and started on foot 
for Campbelltown in the Highlands, where her father was 
a sailor. 

Burns accompanied her. It was the second Sunday in 
May, 1786. They reached "a sequestered spot on the 
banks of the Ayr," — now a railway runs within a few 
yards of it, — and there the parting took place. According 



20 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

to tradition, they stood on opposite sides of a slow-running 
brook and, dipping their hands into the pure water, swore 
solemn vows to be true and one till death. 

At the Burns monument at Ayr are preserved the Bibles 
which they exchanged. Mary's gift to Burns, is a small 
plain one; his to her, a dainty edition in two volumes. In 
one of them the poet wrote the Scripture verse : 

Ye shall not swear by my name falsely ; I am the Lord 
(Levit. xix. 12). 
And in the other : 

Thou shall not forswear thyself, but shall pejform unto 
the Lord thine oaths (Matt. v. 33). 

The poem "To Mary" is referred by Burns to this 
time when he was " thinking of going to the West Indies : " 

" Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And leave auld Scotia's shore? 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
Across the Atlantic's roar? " 

Nothing more was said about Mary Campbell going to 
Jamaica with him. Indeed, he never saw her again. 
After making her visit at Campbelltown, she started for 
Glasgow to take the prosaic place of a servant; but stop- 
ping at Greenock to care for a sick brother, she caught 
the fever and died. 

There is nothing in Burns's behavior or his letters to 
indicate that this poetic ending of a miserable story was 
regarded as anything but a relief. When he heard the 
news his face changed and he left the house; but he said 
nothing about it, and only his immortal poem "To Mary 
in Heaven," written years afterwards, shows that it made 
an impression upon him. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 21 

On the contrary, it was probably only a hasty episode 
conducted partly under the influence of pique; and so he 
continued his preparations for his journey, and wrote his 
rhymes, and conceived the idea of publishing them. 

In the following June, 1786, he wrote to Mr. David 
Brice, a shoemaker of Glasgow, a full account of his 
trouble. He said: 

" Poor, ill-advised, ungrateful Armour came home on 
Friday last. You have heard all the particulars of that 
affair, and a black affair it is. What she thinks of her 
conduct now, I don't know; one thing I do know — she 
has made me completely miserable. Never man loved, or 
rather adored, a woman more than I did her: and to con- 
fess a truth between you and me, I do still love her to 
distraction after all, though I won't tell her so if I were to 
see her, which I don't want to do. My poor, dear, unfortu- 
nate Jean ! how happy have I been in thy arms ! It is not 
the losing her that makes me so unhappy, but for her sake 
I feel most severely : I foresee she is in the road to, I am 
afraid, eternal ruin. 

"May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and perjury 
to me, as I from my very soul forgive her; and may His 
grace be with her and bless her in all her future life ! I 
can have no nearer idea of the place of eternal punishment 
than what I have felt in my own breast on her account. I 
have tried often to forget her; I have run into all kinds of 
dissipation and riots, mason-meetings, drinking-matches, 
and other mischief, to drive her out of my head, but all in 
vain. And now for a grand cure: the ship is on her way 
home that is to take me out to Jamaica; and then, fare- 
well dear old Scotland ! and farewell dear, ungrateful Jean ! 
for never, never will I see you more. 

" You will have heard that I am going to commence poet 



22 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

in print; and to-morrow my works go to the press. I 
expect it will be a volume of about two hundred pages — 
it is just the last foolish action I intend to do; and then 
turn a wise man as fast as possible." 

It was only after considerable hesitation that he had deter- 
mined to venture into print with a volume of poems. Thus 
he expressed his doubts in a poetic epistle to his crony, Mr. 
James Smith, a shopkeeper in Mauchline : 

"Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancie yerkit up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon: 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's comin? 

Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash; 
Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash; 
, Some rhyme to court the contra clash. 

An' raise a din;_ 
For me, an aim I never fash; 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 

Has fated me the russet coat. 

An' damn'd my fortune to the groat; 

But, in requit, 
Has blest me with a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent, 
To try my fate in guid, black prent; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries, ' Hoolie ! 
I red you, honest man, tak tent ! 

Ye '11 shaw your folly. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 23 

There's ither poets, much your betters, 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had ensured their debtors, 

A' future ages; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, 

Their unknown pages.' 

Then farewell hopes o' laurel boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs. 

Are whistling thrang. 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang." 

He had material enough for a volume. For months he 
had been pouring forth his most beautiful poems. He 
had " electrified " his brother Gilbert by repeating to him 
' ' The Cotter's Saturday Night ' ' — that splendid apotheosis 
of humble piety and rural content. 

Many of his songs were household words in his neigh- 
borhood. He had won unstinted applause and even more 
unbounded blame by his satiric verses occasioned by a 
quarrel that was dividing the parish at that day, and into 
which he entered with all the zeal of his impetuous nature. 

The descendants or representatives of the old Covenant- 
ers, naturally proud of their distinction, clung to a fierce 
and unmodified Calvinism. Their clergy and the elders of 
the Kirk possessed a moral dominion which had become a 
veritable tyranny, extending from the weightier matters of 
the law even down to the merest trifles of conduct or 
opinion. 

This party were called "The Auld Lichts." 

Opposed to them were the New Lights, or Moderates, 
who believed that Christians had no right to lay down the 



24 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

law upon their brethren in matters of faith and practice, 
and that the "Kirk Session" — that is, the Committee of 
the Elders — existed simply to assist the minister in know- 
ing his congregation. 

The two ministers of Ayr belonged to the New Lights, 
and one of them, Dr. McGill, had undergone persecu- 
tion. Burns's kind landlord and friend, Gavin Hamil- 
ton, had been absent from church two or three Sundays, 
and it was discovered, by questioning his servants, that 
he was remiss in the ordinances of family worship. He 
had also neglected to pay, a small churclr rate. He was 
selected as a special victim of the dominant party. Burns, 
whose father was a Moderate, naturally sympathized with 
that side. 

The armor of the Evangelicals was not arrow-proof. 
The shafts of ridicule could find joints to pierce; and, 
worse yet, vital places were not protected. Some of the 
most violent persecutors of Gavin Hamilton were secretly 
guilty of unworthy practices, and Burns was alert to seize 
every chance. 

Thus he picked out Mr. William Fisher, one of the 
Kirk elders of Mauchline and gibbetted him in the dogf- 
grel rhymes — unfortunately not guiltless of vulgarity — 
entitled " Holy Willie's Prayer: " 

"O Thou, wha in the Heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel'. 
Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory. 
And no for onie guid or ill 

They've done afore thee!" 

The attack was after all not so disreputable as the 
elder's own career. Burns called him a hypocrite; he 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 25 

was worse. He afterwards was found guilty of embez- 
zling church funds; and he died in a ditch into which he fell 
while "elevated," as they then called being tipsy. 

Two Auld Licht divines had quarrelled about their 
parish boundaries, and Burns satirized them in his " Twa 
Herds: " 

" O a' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel feed on pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tykes? 
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, 
About the dykes? 

The twa best herds in a' the wast. 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty summers past, 

O dool to tell ! 
Hae had a bitter black out-cast, 

Atween themsel. 

Sic twa — O ! do I live to see't. 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
An' names, like 'villain,' 'hypocrite,' 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While new-light herds wi' laughin' spite. 
Say, * neither's liein 



> jj 



The Sacrament of the Lord's Supper had in many places 
gradually degenerated into a sort of carousal, where there 
was much eating and drinking, much gossip and even 
flirtation. This state of things Burns satirized in his poem 
entitled "The Holy Fair." 



26 • BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

" Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 
When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn. 

An' snuff the caller air. 
The risin' sun, owre Galston muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin; 
The hares were hirplin down the furrs. 
The lav'rocks they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day." 

As " lightsomely " the poet glowers abroad "to see a 
scene so gay," three Hizzies — Fun, Superstition, and 
Hypocrisy — come " skelpin up the way," bound for 
" Mauchline Holy Fair;" and Fun, his "crony dear," 
invites him to accompany them. The sights that he wit- 
nesses he then describes with more zest than propriety. 

There were more satirical poems of the same sort; and 
though they had their legitimate effect (as was the case 
with "The Holy Fair") and worked a needed reform, 
they brought much obloquy upon Burns himself, who was 
perfectly reckless so long as he made a point. 

It was not hypocrisy in religion alone that he satirized. 
The village school-master set up a grocery store, and, hav- 
ing a liking for drugs, advertised that "advice would be 
given in common disorders, at the shop, gratis." He put 
on great airs of medical knowledge, and Burns one day 
repeated to his brother Gilbert the terrible lines entitled 
"Death and Doctor Hornbrook :" 

Here the Deil describes the various cases in which 
" Hornbrook was by wi' ready art," 

to prevent poor humanity from paying its last debt, and 
"stop him of his lawfu' prey." 

The laughter caused by this satire was so great, that it 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 27 

actually drove John Wilson, the apothecary and school- 
master, out of the country. 

It seemed to Burns that his local reputation as a poet 
justified him in risking the venture; so he collected over 
three hundred subscriptions, and engaged John Wilson, a 
Drinter at Kilmarnock, to publish the volume. 

While he was busy correcting the proofs, Jean Armour 
came home. He went to call upon her, "not," so he 
wrote, " from the least view of reconciliation, but mer£ly 
to ask for her health . . . and from a foolish, hanker- 
ing fondness, very ill-placed indeed." 

Her mother forbade him the house; and with anger in 
his heart, he resolved to gain his " certificate as a single 
man," promised him by the minister, provided he would 
comply with the rules of the church. On the seventeenth 
of July he wrote to Mr. David Brice : 

"I have already appeared publicly in church, and was 
indulged in the liberty of standing in my own seat. I do 
this to get a certificate as a bachelor, which Mr. Auld has 
promised me. I am now fixed to go for the West Indies 
in October. Jean and her friends insisted much that she 
should stand along with me in the kirk, but the minister 
would not allow it, which bred a great trouble, I assure 
you, arfti I am blamed as the cause of it, though I am 
sure I am innocent; but I am very much pleased, for all 
that, not to have had her company." 

In order to drive Burns from the country, Jean's father 
got out a warrant to arrest him. " Some ill-advised pto- 
ple," he wrote Dr. Moore, " had uncoupled the merciless 
pack of the law at his heels," and he was skulking about 
from Carrick to Kyle, and from Kyle to Carrick. 

" The ship Nancy, Captain Smith, from Clyde to 
Jamaica, and to call at Antigua," was to sail toward the 



28 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

latter part of August. Here was the chance for Burns. 
He was saying good-by to his friends. 

He had passed what he supposed was his last night at 
the Tarbolton Lodge, where it was afterwards remembered 
that he " came in a pair of buckskins, out of which he 
would always pull the other shilling for the other bowl till 
it was five o'clock in the morning." 

The departure was postponed till September, and in 
September poor Jean " repaid him double." An under- 
standing was reached between the two families as to the 
nurture of the twins; and still Burns lingered, with " tender 
yearnings of heart for the little angels to whom he gave 
existence," and with indefinite hopes that after all he 
might not be " exiled, abandoned, forlorn." 

His poems had succeeded better than he feared. After 
he had settled with Wilson, he had about twenty pounds 
to his credit, and was trying to publish a second edition. 
But Wilson refused to undertake it unless the twenty-seven 
pounds required for paper were advanced. "This," said 
Burns, " is out of my power, so farewell hopes of a 
second edition till I grow richer ! an epocha which, I 
think, will arrive at the payment of the British national 
debt." And he added in reference to his domestic troubles : 

" I have for some time been pining under secret*wretch- 
edness, from causes which you pretty well know — the 
pang of disappointment, the sting of pride, with some 
wandering stabs of remorse, which never fail to settle on 
my vitals like vultures, when attention is not called away 
by the calls of society, or the vagaries of the Muse. 
Even in the hour of social mirth, my gayety is the mad- 
ness of an intoxicated criminal under the hands of the 
executioner. All these reasons urge me to go abroad; 
and to all these reasons I have only one answer, — the 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 29 

feelings of a father. This, in the present mood I am in, 
overbalances everything that can be laid in the scale 
against it." 

The poems were becoming known outside of Ajjrshire. 
Dr. Lawrie of London, near Kilmarnock, sent a copy of the 
precious volume to Dr. Thomas Blacklock of Edinburgh, 
the well-known blind poet and preacher, who replied in a 
most complimentary manner, and wished, " for the sake 
of the young man, that a second edition, more numerous 
than the former, could immediately be printed." 

Professor Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh had a country 
residence at Catrine-on-the-Ayr, only a few miles from 
Mossgiel; and having come into possession of Burns's 
poems, he invited the young man to dine with him. On 
this occasion he met Basil William, Lord Daer, the son of 
the Earl of Selkirk, a youth of twenty-three, and shortly 
afterwards wrote the poem beginning: 

" This wot ye all whom it concerns: 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er-to-be forgotten day 
Sae far I sprackled up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord! " 

Professor Stewart declared that "his manners were 
simple, manly, and independent; strongly expressive of 
conscious genius and worth, but without anything that 
indicated forwardness, arrogance, and vanity." 

About the same time the Edinburgh Magazine came 
out with a favorable review of the poems, and Burns was 
so much encouraged that he determined to go up to Edin- 
burgh and try his fortunes there. 

He mounted his pony and reached " Edina, Scotia's dar- 



3« BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

ling seat," on the evening of November 28, 1786. For 
the first fortnight he suffered " w^ith a miserable headache 
and stomach complaint," and apparently did little else 
than • 

" View that noble, stately dome 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 
Fam'd heroes ! had their royal home ! " 

and make himself familiar with the sights of the historic 
city. 

He found a warm welcome among the literary celebri- 
ties of the day, — Professor Stewart, Professor Blair, Mr. 
Mackenzie, author of "The Man of Feeling," and others. 
Mr. James Dalrymple of Orangefield, near Ayr, gave him 
an introduction to his brother-in-law, the Earl of Glen- 
cairn, through whose influence he was brought before the 
Caledonian Hunt, a society of the Scottish nobility. In a 
letter to Gavis Hamilton, dated December 7, he wrote: 

" I am in a fair way of becoming as eminent as Thomas 
a Kempis or John Bunyan; and you may expect hence- 
forth to see my birthday inserted among the wonderful 
events, in the Poor Robin's and Aberdeen Almanacks, 
along with the Black Monday, and the battle of Bothwell 
Bridge. My Lord Glencairn and the Dean of Faculty, 
Mr. H. Erskine, have taken me under their wing; and by 
all probability I shall soon be the tenth worthy, and the 
eighth wise man of the world. Through my Lord's influ- 
ence it is inserted in the records of the Caledonian Hunt, 
that they universally, one and all, subscribe for the second 
edition." 

This subscription, amounting to a hundred guineas, in- 
sured the success of the volume. Private individuals, 
also, subscribed liberally, one taking forty-two copies, 
another forty, another twenty. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 31 

As an enthusiastic Freemason, Burns was welcomed to 
the Kilwinning Lodge of Edinburgh, and was made their 
Poet Laureate. 

There are a number of descriptions of Burns at that 
time. Professor Josiah Walker described him as strong 
and well-knit in person, " much superior to what might 
be expected in a plowman;" his stature rather above 
middle height, though "from want of setting up" it 
seemed to be " only of the middle size; " his " large, dark 
eye," the most striking index of his character; his dress 
simple, plain, but appropriate; his hair, unpowdered, was 
tied behind and spread upon his forehead; his manner, 
absolutely "free from affectation; nor did his conversation 
or behavior betray " that he had been for some months 
the favorite of all the fashionable circles of a metropolis." 

Walter Scott, then a youth of sixteen, met him at the 
house of Dr. Adam Ferguson, and remembered the "digni- 
fied plainness and simplicity of his manners," the " strong 
expression of strength and shrewdness in all his linea- 
ments," and above all his large and glowing eye, which 
alone seemed to indicate his " poetical character and tem- 
perament." 

Only two instances are on record where he allowed 
himself any breach of etiquette, and they were not serious. 
Generally he was welcomed as an equal; and if he shone in 
conversation in the more polished circles, he scintillated 
in the free and easy life of the taverns and the lodges. 

While he was correcting his proofs he was puzzling his 
head as to what the future had in store for him, and 
debating whether to go to farming again. 

Burns recognized that he was out of place in Edin- 
burgh. There was nothing for him to do; his rustic train- 
ing had not fitted him for city life; there was no field for 



32 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

literary work. He was out of his element; like the fabled 
Antaeus, he had need to be in contact with mother earth 
to find his strength. City pavements offer to such a bard 
no inspiration. He was weary of adulation; he was too 
independent to live happily at the table of Patronage. 

Dr Lawrie warned him against the dangers of his new 
life. Burns replied: 

" I thank you, Sir, with all my soul for your friendly 
hints, though I do not need them so much as my friends 
are apt to imagine. You are dazzled with newspaper 
accounts and distant reports; but in reality, I have no 
great temptation to be intoxicated with the cup of pros- 
perity." 

The Earl of Buchan advised Burns to make a pilgrim- 
age to the chief battle-fields of Scotland. He replied 
that he wished for nothing more than a leisurely tour 
through his native land, *' to fire his muse at Scottish story 
and Scottish scenes," but he declared that Wisdom, "a 
long-visaged, dry, moral-phantom," whose home was with 
Prudence, gave him different advice; and he added: 

"I must return to my humble station, and woo my 
rustic muse in my wonted way at the plough-tail." 

The same "Utopian thoughts" he expressed to Mrs. 
Dunlop. "The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far 
my highest pride; to continue to deserve it is my most 
exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are 
the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim 
than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine 
of business, for which Heaven knows I am unfit enough, 
to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit 
on the fields of her battles; to wander on the romantic 
banks of her rivers; and to muse by the stately towers or 
venerable ruins once the honored abodes of her heroes." 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. :i^Z 

But again the idea of his true station in life comes to 
him; besides, he had "an aged mother to care for, and 
some other bosom ties perhaps equally tender." 

The volume appeared toward the last of April, 1787. 
Twenty-eight hundred copies were taken by subscription, 
and Burns's share of the profits was about five hundred 
pounds. 

This little fortune seemed to justify Burns in under- 
taking the pilgrimages for which he yearned, before he 
should settle down to his farming again. On the fifth of 
May, in company with Mr. Robert Ainslie, he set forth on 
his *' auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere," for a long ride. They 
spent the next day, which was Sunday, at Berry Well, 
with Ainslie's family; at church Miss Ainslie tried to find 
the text, which was in condemnation of obstinate sinners. 
Burns seeing it, wrote these lines on a piece of paper and 
handed them to her: 

*' Fair maid, you need not take the hint, 
Nor idle texts pursue: 
'Twas guilty simmers that he meant — 
Not a7igels such as you ! " 

At Jedburgh he was presented with the freedom of the 
town, an honor which he prized much less than the privi- 
lege of a walk with Miss Isabella Lindsay, whose " beauti- 
ful hazel eyes " bewitched him. They rode up the Tweed 
and the Ettrick, and spent a night at Selkirk, where after- 
wards Scott served as Sheriff. Here they found some 
gentlemen drinking at Veitch's Inn and proposed to join 
them; but when the landlord said that one spoke rather 
like a gentleman, but the other was "a drover-looking 
chap," the gentlemen declined their company, to the life- 
long regret of at least one of them. At Selkirk he wrote 



34 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

the. rhymed epistle to his pubHsher, William Creech, 
beginning, " Auld chuckle Reekie's sair distrest." 

During the trip Burns, for the first and only time, set 
foot on English soil. On the eighth of June, after a 
delightful trip, having " dander'd owre a' the Kintra frae 
Dumbar to Selcraig, an' fore-gather'd wi' mony a guid 
fallow an' monie a weel far'd hizzie," he reached his 
home at Mauchline. He who had left them in disgrace, 
came back the most distinguished man in Scotland. The 
money and the fame placed him in a different light. 
Even old Armour forgot his resentment; and this made 
Burns angry, as is seen by a letter which he dated June 
II, 1787: 

" I date this from Mauchline, where I arrived on Friday 
even last. If anything had been wanting to disgust me 
completely at Armour's family, their mean, servile com- 
pliance would have done it." 

In this unsettled state of mind he left Mauchline toward 
the last of June, and went to the West Highlands, where 
he apparently found little to please him: "a country 
where savage streams tumble over savage mountains, 
thinly overspread with savage flocks, which starvingly 
support as savage inhabitants." At Inverary, where he 
could find no shelter, he composed these bitter lines: 

"Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 
I pity much his case, 
Unless he come to wait upon 
The Lord their God, his Grace. 

There's naething here but High- 
land pride. 

And Highland scab and hunger; 
If Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in his anger." 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 35 

But later he found boon companions and the sort of 
wild dissipation which for a time caused him to forget his 
errors. He tells of one occasion when they danced till 
three in the morning, and how "they ranged round the 
bowl till the good-fellow hour of six." 

The next day they again "pushed the bottle," and 
finding themselves "not ma fou but gaylie yet," they 
tried to outgalop a Highlandman who had a tolerably 
good horse. But the race ended in a bad tumble. " His 
horse, which had never known the ornaments of iron or 
leather, zigzagged across before my old spavin'd hunter, 
whose name is Jenny Geddes, and down came the High- 
landman, horse and all, and down came Jenny and my 
hardship; so I have got such a skinful of bruises and 
wounds, that I shall be at least four weeks before I dare 
venture on my journey to Edinburgh." "I came off," 
he says in another letter, "with a few cuts and bruises, 
and a thorough resolution to be a pattern of sobriety for 
the future." 

Unconsciously to himself he had woven a net at Mauch- 
line which was to entangle him. He had renewed his 
intimacy with Jean Armour. It was while he was at 
Mossgiel on his return from this escapade, that he wrote 
his autobiographical letter to Dr. Moore. 

In August he returned to Edinburgh, and on the twenty- 
fifth of the month started with " a truly original but very 
worthy man, a Mr. Nicol, one of the masters of the high- 
school in Edinburgh," on a twenty-two days' trip of 
"near six hundred miles," through the Highlands. On 
the twenty-sixth he wrote : 

"This morning I knelt at the tomb of Sir John the 
Graham, the gallant friend of the immortal Wallace; and 
two hours ago I said a fervent prayer for Old Caledonia 



36 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

over the hole in a blue whinstone, where Robert de 
Bruce fixed his royal standard on the banks of Bannock- 
burn; and just now, from Stirling Castle, I have seen by 
the setting sun the glorious prospect of the windings of 
Forth, through the rich carse of Stirling, and skirting the 
equally rich carse of Falkirk." 

He described his trip not only in various letters, but 
also in a jotted diary, so that all his steps are known. 

At Blair Athole, where he was so cordially welcomed by 
"honest men and bonnie lasses," he left behind hira the 
poem entitled, "The Humble Petition of Bruar Water." 
The Earl carried out the idea, and " shaded the banks wi' 
tow'ring trees and bonnie spreading bushes." 

At Stirling he inscribed on the window-pane of a tavern 
with a recently purchased diamond ring these lines : 

" Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd. 
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd; 
But now unroof'd their palace stands, 
Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands; 
The injured Stuart line is gone, 
A race outlandish fills their throne, 
An idiot race to honor lost. 
Who know them best, despise them most. " 

The minister of Gladmuir attacked him for the treason 
thus expressed, and Burns replied with another epigram : 

*' Like Esop's lion. Burns says, sore I feel. 
All others scorn — but damn that ass's heel." 

In October, after his return to Edinburgh, he started on 
another tour, this time with his friend Dr. Adair. 

At Clackmannan they visited Mrs. Bruce who had the 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 37 

helmet and sword of the great chieftain, from whom she 
inherited it. She conferred knighthood on the two travel- 
lers, remarking that she had a better right to give the 
honor than some people had. At Stirling, Burns, who had 
been told that his treasonable lines might affect his pros- 
pects, broke the pane of glass, and indulged in a still 
bitterer epigram. Neither was forgotten: 

" Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name 
Shall no longer appear in the records of fame; 
Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the 

Bible, 
Says the more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a libel? " 

At Harvieston he enjoyed a visit to " the accomplished " 
Miss Margaret Chalmers, whom he immortalized as Peggy 
in the two songs entitled " Peggy's charms." He spent two 
days at Ochtertyre on the Terth, surprising the land with 
his " flashes of intellectual brightness," and visited Ochter- 
tyre in Strathearn, where he wrote the poem, " On Scaring 
some Water-fowl in Loch Turit," and the song to Miss 
Euphemia Murray of Lintrove, known as "the Flower of 
Strathearn:" 

"Blythe, blythe and merry was she, 
Blythe was she but and ben : 
Blythe by the banks of Em, 
And blythe in Glenturit glen." 

At Dunfermline they visited the ruined abbey, and Abbey 
Church, and Burns from the pulpit delivered a mock re- 
proof and exhortation to Dr. Adair, mounted on the 
"cutty stool," or stool of repentance. 

Robert Bruce is buried in the churchyard, under two 
broad flagstones; and Burns, says Dr. Adair, "knelt and 



38 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

kissed the stone with sacred fervor, and heartily execrated 
the worse than Gothic neglect of the first of Scottish 
heroes." 

On his return to Edinburgh he was still undecided 
whether to take a farm of Mr. Miller, or enter into 
partnership with his brother Gilbert, who was, as he said, 
an excellent farmer and, " besides, an exceedingly prudent, 
sober man." Creech, the publisher of his poems, was slow 
in making a settlement ; there were rumors of his insolvency, 
and Burns remained in town, rooming in St. James's 
Square with Mr. William Cruickshank. 

Early in December, at the house of Miss Nimmo, he 
made the acquaintance of a Mrs. M'Lehose. Her maiden 
name had been Agnes Craig: she was the daughter of a 
surgeon, and had been known in Glasgow society as " the 
pretty Miss Nancy." She was married at the early age of 
seventeen to James M'Lehose, a law-agent, from whom she 
separated four years later. Her husband was in Jamaica. 
She was a poet. 

She invited Burns to take tea with her at her lodgings on 
the evening of Saturday, December 8; but a drunken 
coachman overset him, bruising his knees so that he could 
not stir out. Burns wrote a note expressing his chagrin. 

Mrs. M'Lehose replied that if she were his sister she 
would call and see him ! She also enclosed some verses. 

This was the beginning of a perilous friendship which 
ran over the sea of passion, though the fair widow had a 
kedge-anchor to windward in her intensely religious nature. 

The correspondence between Sylva7ide7- and Clarinda 
(as they sentimentally called themselves) is famous in the 
history of literature. 

Mrs. M'Lehose long outlived Burns; for thirty or forty 
years she was said to be in company five-sevenths of the 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 39 

time. Those who saw her in later life found her a short, 
plain, snuff-taking little woman. But to the last she 
worshipped the memory of Burns, and lived in the hope 
that they should meet in another sphere where "love is 
not a crime." To her Burns wrote the poem in which he 
called her " the fair sun of all her sex." 

Perhaps, if both of them had been free. Burns might 
have married " Clarinda, mistress of his soul," as he more 
than once wrote; but he was even less free than he 
supposed. 

In February, 1788, Burns went for the third time to 
inspect Mr. Miller's farms at Dalswinton. On his way he 
stopped at Mossgiel and had an interview with Jean Ar- 
mour, then wrote in regard to it to his sympathizing Cla- 
rinda: 

" I, this morning as I came home, called for a certain 
woman. I am disgusted with her. I cannot endure her. 
I, while my heart smote me for the profanity, tried to 
compare her with my Clarinda: 'twas setting the expiring 
glimmer of a farthing taper beside the cloudless glory of 
the meridian sun. Here was tasteless insipidity, vulgarity 
of soul, and mercenary fawning; there, polished good 
sense. Heaven-born genius, and the most generous, the 
most delicate, the most tender passion. I have done with 
her, and she with me." 

In regard to the same interview he wrote more frankly 
to Robert Ainslie : 

" I have been through sore tribulation, and under much 
buffeting of the evil one, since I came to this country. 
Jean I found banished, like a martyr, — forlorn, destitute, 
and friendless, — all for the good old cause. I have rec- 
onciled her fate; I have reconciled her to her mother; I 
have taken her a room; I have taken her to my arms; 



40 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

I have given her a guinea; and I have embraced her till 
she rejoiced with joy unspeakable and full of glory. But 
— as I always am on every occasion — I have been pru- 
dent and cautious to an astounding degree. I swore her 
privately and solemnly never to attempt any claim on me 
as a husband, even though anybody should persuade her 
she had such a claim, which she had not, neither during 
my life nor after my death. She did all this like a good 
girl." 

Such conduct requires no comment. It speaks for 
itself. He returned to Edinburgh in March, and on the 
fourteenth of the month he wrote to Miss Chalmers that 
he had completed a bargain for the farm of Ellisland on 
the banks of the Nith, between five and six miles above 
Dumfries. 

The birth and death of a second pair of twins seems to 
have changed his opinions in regard to Jean Armour. He 
made up his mind that "some sacrifices" were necessary 
for his peace of mind. On the 28th of April he wrote 
Mr. James Smith, "There is a certain clean-limbed, 
handsome, bewitching young hussy of your acquaintance, 
to whom I have lately and privately given a matrimonial 
title to my corpus." In this letter he first calls Jean 
Armour Mrs. Burns, though 'he adds, "'tis only her pri' 
vate designation." 

To his uncle Samuel Brown he wrote whimsically: 
" It would be a vain attempt for me to enumerate the 
various transactions I have been engaged in since I saw 
you last; but this know, I engaged in a smuggling trade, 
and God knows if ever any poor man experienced better 
returns — two for one; but as freight and delivery have 
turned out so dear, I am thinking of taking out a license 
and beginning in fair trade. I have taken a farm on the 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 41 

borders of the Nith, and, in imitation of the old patri- 
archs, get men-servants and maid-servants, and flocks and 
herds, and beget sons and daughters." 

In June he wrote to Mrs. Dunlop from Ellisland, tell- 
ing her how busy he was building his farmhouse, digging 
foundations, carting stones and lime, and dwelling "a 
solitary inmate of an old, smoky spence; far from every 
object I love, or by whom I am beloved; nor any 
acquaintance older than yesterday, except Jenny Geddes, 
the old mare I ride on; while uncouth cares and novel 
plans hourly insult my awkward ignorance and bashful 
inexperience." In this letter he confirmed her suspicions 
that he was a husband. 

Of his wife he says: 

"The most placid good-nature and sweetness of dis- 
position; a warm heart, gratefully devoted with all its 
powers to love me; vigorous health and spritely cheer- 
fulness, set off to the best advantage by a more than 
commonly handsome figure; these, I think, in a woman, 
may make a good wife, though she should never have read 
a page but the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, 
nor have danced in a brighter assembly than a penny pay 
wedding." 

Less than a month later Burns and his wife appeared 
before the Kirk Session and publicly " acknowledged their 
irregular marriage and their sorrow for their irregularity." 
The Session agreed that they should both be rebuked and 
"be solemnly engaged to adhere faithfully to one another 
as man and wife all the days of their life." 

While he was building his house and qualifying for his 
position on the Excise, to which he had been appointed, 
he left his wife at Mauchline and dwelt alone at Ellisland. 



42 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

It was in the Honeymoon; and, as Burns says, here he 
wrote those beautiful songs to his Jean: 

"Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 
I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 
The lassie I lo'e best ;" 
and 

"O were I on Parnassus' hill." 

Burns's letters during this time are filled with curious 
contradictions. He tells Mrs. Dunlop that he might 
easily fancy a more agreeable companion for his journey 
of life. He writes Mr. Bengo that his choice was as 
random as blind-man's buff. He writes Miss Chalmers: 

" Shortly after my last return to Ayrshire I married 
' My Jean.' This was not in consequence of the 
attachment of romance, perhaps; but I had a long and 
much loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery in my 
determination, and I durst not trifle with so important a 
deposit. Nor have I any cause to repent it. If I have 
not got polite tattle, modish manners, and fashionable 
dress, I am not sickened and disgusted with the multiform 
curse of boarding-school affectation; and I have got the 
handsomest figure, the sweetest temper, the soundest con- 
stitution, and the kindest heart in the county." 

In November he wrote to Dr. Blacklock: ' 

"I am more and more pleased with the step I took 
respecting ' My Jean.' Two things, from my happy 
experience, I set down as apophthegms in Hfe, — A wife's 
head is immaterial compared with her heart; and, 'Vir- 
tue's (for wisdom, what poet pretends to it?) ways are 
ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.' " 

In December Jean appeared upon the scene, bringing 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 43 

her household belongings, including a four-post bedstead, 
a gift from Mrs. Dunlop, and a faithful servant-maid 
named Elizabeth Smith. He welcomed her with the 
poem beginning, " I hae a wife o' my ain." 

The house was small, but Burns was on the whole con- 
tent. This was the happiest period of his life. He was 
comparatively regular in his habits, though his poem of 
"The Whistle" shows that he occasionally indulged in 
the intoxicating bowl after the universal custom of the 
day. He became interested in the local library, for which 
he ordered "The Spectator," "The Lounger," "Reli- 
gious Pieces," and other works from Edinburgh; and he 
still took an interest in theological matters, as is proved 
by his satire entitled "The Kirk's Alarm," occasioned by 
an heretical work by Pastor McGill. 

The first year at Ellisland was fairly successful. The 
crops turned out well; Major Dunlop sent him a present 
of a heifer; Mr. John Tennant forwarded to him a cask 
of whiskey; he was in frequent correspondence with his 
friends. 

In the summer of 1790 Captain Francis Grose, an 
English antiquary, visited Scotland and made Burns's 
acquaintance. To him was indirectly due the tale of 
" Tam o' Shanter," that famous "masterpiece of Scottish 
character, Scottish humor, Scottish witchlore, and Scot- 
tish imagination." This piece. Burns declared, was "his 
standard performance in the poetical line." 

In this same year Samuel Egerton Brydges, the poet, 
visited Burns at Ellisland. He wrote: 

" At first I was not entirely pleased with his counte- 
nance. I thought it had a sort of capricious jealousy, as 
if he was half inclined to treat me as an intruder. I 
resolved to bear it, and try if I could humor him. I let 



44 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

him choose his turn of conversation, but said a word 
about the friend whose letter I had brought to him. It 
was now about four o'clock in the afternoon of an autumn 
day. While we were talking, Mrs. Burns, as if accus- 
tomed to entertain visitors in this way, brought in a bottle 
of Scotch whiskey, and set the table. I accepted this 
hospitality. I could not help observing the curious glance 
with which he watched me at the entrance of this sequel 
of homely entertainment. He was satisfied; he filled 
our glasses. 

" ' Here's a health to Auld Caledonia.' The fire 
sparkled in his eye, and mine sympathetically met his. 
He shook my hands, and we were friends at once. Then 
he drank 'Erin forever,' and the tear of delight burst 
from his eye. The fountain of his mind and his heart 
opened at once, and flowed with abundant force almost 
till midnight. 

"He had amazing acuteness of intellect, as well as glow 
of sentiment. I do not deny that he said some absurd 
things and many coarse ones, and that his knowledge was 
very irregular, and sometimes too presumptuous; and that 
he did not endure contradiction with sufficient patience. 
His pride, and perhaps his vanity, was even morbid. I 
carefully avoided topics in which he could not take an 
active part. Of literary gossip he knew nothing, and, 
therefore, I kept aloof from it; in the technical parts of 
literature, his opinions were crude and unformed; but 
whenever he spoke of a great writer whom he had read, 
his taste was generally sound. To a few minor writers 
he gave more credit than they deserved. His grand beauty 
was his manly strength and his energy and elevation of 
thought and feeling. He had always a full mind, and all 
flowed from a genuine spring. I never conversed with a 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 45 

man who appeared to be more warmly impressed with the 
beauties of Nature; and visions of female beauty and 
tenderness seemed to transport him. He did not merely 
appear to be a poet at casual intervals, but at every mo- 
ment a poetical enthusiasm seemed to beat in his veins; 
and he lived all his days the inward, if not the outward, 
life of a poet." 

In order to enable his brother Gilbert to remain at 
Mossgiel, Burns advanced him one hundred and eighty 
pounds : the rest of the small fortune made by his poems 
was gradually sunk in the unsuccessful conduct of the 
farm. 

He had been appointed Exciseman; and his duties, on a 
salary of fifty pounds a year, " condemned " him, as he 
expressed it, to "galop " over ten parishes " at least two 
hundred miles every week, to inspect dirty ponds and 
yeasty barrels." These absences, and frequent attacks of 
illness; a lame knee and a broken arm, occasioned by a 
fall " not from but with " his horse; and " an omnipotent 
toothache," were not to the advantage of farming. A 
deranged nervous system, resulting in incessant headache, 
kept him ill all the following winter. 

He determined to relinquish his "curst farm;" and as 
Mr. Miller was willing to free him from his lease, he gave 
it up. Toward the last of July, 179 1, he sold his crops 
at an average of a guinea an acre above value. Burns 
writing it to a friend said: 

" But such a scene of drunkenness was hardly ever seen 
in this country. After the roup was over, about thirty 
people engaged in a battle, every man for his own hand, 
and fought it out for three hours. Nor was the scene 
m.uch better in the house. No fighting indeed, but the 
folks lying drunk on the floor, and decanting, until both 



46 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

my dogs got so drunk by attending on them, that they 
could not stand. You will easily guess how I enjoyed the 
scene, as I was no farther over than you used to see me." 

In November he was appointed excise-officer for the 
district of Dumfries, at a salary of seventy pounds a year, 
and the hope of being promoted to be supervisor at a 
salary of two hundred pounds. 

He sold off his stock and farming implements, and 
moved to a small house in the Wee Vennel of Dumfries. 
The thought of Burns at the plow awakens a pleasurable 
picture: we remember his poem to the Mountain Daisie, 
or the Field Mouse. But Burns as a gauger of ardent 
spirits is pathetic; it connects him too directly with the 
indecent wit and vulgar lowness of " the Jolly Beggars;" 
that move was a step toward his ruin. 

While Mrs. Burns was visiting in Ayrshire, Burns him- 
self was still lingering at Ellisland, and for no good. 
The fair niece of the hostess of the Globe Tavern had 
met his eye. To her he wrote the song, "The Gowden 
Locks of Anna," with its impudent, reckless postscript. 
The price of that song was a soul. When Burns tried to 
get his brother to take the helpless babe who was born 
of this intrigue, Mrs. Burns, with characteristic magna- 
nimity, insisted on adopting the little girl, and became 
very fond of her. She was the image of her father; she 
made an excellent marriage, and lived till within a few 
years ago. 

Before he settled in Dumfries, Burns visited Edinburgh 
for the last time, and saw his beloved " Clarinda," with 
whom he had kept up an infrequent correspondence. 
She was about to sail for Jamaica to join her *' repentant 
but worthless husband." This episode gave rise to the 
songs: " Aince Mair I hail thee, thou Gloomy December," 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 47 

" Behold the Hour, the Boat arrives," " Ae Fond Kiss and 
then we sever," and " My Nannie's Awa'." Burns wrote 
her that whenever he was called upon to give a toast, he 
regularly proposed, "Mrs. Mac," or "Clarinda," though 
he kept them all in the dark as to whom he meant by it. 

Fortunately Mrs. Burns was not a jealous woman; for 
her husband's susceptible heart, not "vitrified" as he 
once feared it was, found constant fuel in Dumfries. 

In August, 1792, he wrote Mrs. Dunlop that he was 
" in love, souse ! over head and ears, deep as the most 
unfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean," with her 
neighbor, Miss Lesley Baillie. The young lady, on her 
way to England with her father and sister, called on him. 
Burns rode fourteen or fifteen miles with them, and on his 
way back composed the song : 

"Oh saw ye bonnie Lesley 
As she gaed o'er the border: " 

a sort of parody on the old ballad : 

" My bonnie Lizie Baillie, 
I'll rowe thee in my plaidie." 

The very next month Mr. George Thomson, clerk to 
the Board of Trustees for the Encouragement of Manufac- 
tures in Scotland, who was interested in publishing a col- 
lection of Scots songs, wrote to enlist Burns in his 
scheme. Burns replied that he would do so on three 
conditions: that he should not be hurried (was not his 
crest a slow-worm supported by two sloths, and his motto 
"De'il tak' the Foremost?"); that he need not be 
expected to write English verses; and that he should not 
be paid for them. 



48 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

Mr. Thomson's work was published in 1 801-2; and 
Burns, in the course of four years, contributed at least a 
hundred songs ! Once five pounds was sent to him, and 
Burns replied, " I assure you, my dear sir, that you truly 
hurt me with your pecuniary parcel. It degrades me in my 
own eyes!" and he threatened that " any more traffic of 
that debtor and creditor kind " would break off their friend- 
ship. He so loved the work that he felt that any talk 
of money, wages, fee, hire and such like, would be down- 
right " prostitution of souF" ! 

He seems to have made an effort to cure himself of 
hard drinking. In December he wrote Mrs. Dunlop: 

"As to myself, I am better, though not quite free of 
my complaint. You must not think, as you seem to 
insinuate, that in my way of life I want exercise. Of that 
I have enough; but occasionally hard drinking is the devil 
to me. Against this I have again and again bent my reso- 
lution, and have greatly succeeded. Taverns I have 
totally abandoned : it is the private parties in the family 
way, among the hard-drinking gentlemen of this country, 
that do me the mischief; but even this I have more than 
half given over." 

Dumfries was then, says Chalmers, " a great stage on 
the road from England to the North of Ireland." Visit- 
ors were apt to send for Burns to meet them and drink 
with them. He had not the will-power to resist. Early 
one summer morning one of his neighbors just getting to 
work received a visit from him as he was staggering home 
from some such debauch. The poet said: 

*'0 George! you are a happy man. You have risen 
from refreshing sleep and left a kind wife and children, 
while I am returning a self -condemned wretch to mine ! " 

Yet he was not neglectful of his duties. In February, 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 49 

1792, a contraband brig was discovered in Solway Frith. 
Burns sent for a squad of dragoons, put himself at their 
head, and was the first to board her. In spite of superior 
numbers opposed to him, he made himself master of her : 
the brig was next day sold with all her contents. 

While his messenger, a man named Lewars, was gone 
for the dragoons, Burns composed the poem, "The 
De'il's Awa'." 

"The De'il cam' fiddling thro' the toun. 
And danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman.' 

In spite of such zeal he had ruined his chances — slim 
though they were — of becoming a supervisor. In the pre- 
ceding December the Board was ordered to inquire into 
his political conduct; and he wrote a pitiful appeal to Mr. 
Robert Graham, not so much for himself as in behalf of 
" the much-loved wife of his bosom and his helpless, prat- 
tHng little ones," likely to be " turned adrift into the world, 
degraded and disgraced." He declared that the attack 
upon him arose from " the damned dark insinuations of 
hellish, groundless envy." 

Yet there was some ground for suspicion of him. It 
was known that he looked with favor on the Revolution- 
ary party in France; that he had sent to the French 
Convention a present of four small cannon, for which he 
paid three pounds. At a dinner party when the toast to 
Pitt was proposed. Burns gave "the health of George 
Washington, a better man." In his cups he indulged in 
sarcasms and rampant radicalism. Epigrams of his were 
in circulation. For such a man promotion was out of the 
question. At one time the good people of Dumfries even 
refused to recognize him on the street. 

At heart he was sound enough. He wrote to Mr. 



50 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Graham: "To the British Constitution, on revolution prin- 
ciples, next after my God, I am most devoutly attached;" 
and when there seemed to be some danger of a French 
invasion, he pubHshed in the Dumfries Journal (May 5, 
1795) the immensely popular song, " Does Haughty Gaul 
Invasion Threat? " He also joined the Dumfries volun- 
teers, and wore the uniform of kersey breeches, blue coat, 
and round hat. 

In July, 1793, Burns, in company with Mr. Syme, stamp 
distributer, made an excursion into Galloway, and, during 
a thunder storm on the wilds of Kenmure, composed his 
famous song, " Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled." 

At Whitsuntide of this year he had moved his family 
into a larger and better house in the Mill-hole Brae, after- 
wards named Burns Street. The rent was eight pounds a 
year. 

During all these months he was constantly inspired to 
compose songs for Mr. Thomson's collection. 

Among the fair ladies in whose honor he wrote, was 
Miss Jean Lorimer, whom he celebrated in a dozen songs 
under the name of Chloris, because of her light flaxen 
hair : " Lassie wi' the Lint- white Locks," is one of the most 
popular of them. Still another was Mrs. Lucy Oswald, 
of Ayrshire, on whom he wrote the song beginning : 

'* O, wat ye wha's in yon town, 
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon? 
The fairest dame's in yon town. 
That e'enin' sun is shining on." 

' Still another was Mrs. Maria Riddell, of Woodley Park, 
only eighteen and, like Clarinda, a poet. Burns called 
her "the most amiable of her sex." She and her hus- 
band made Burns welcome at their table. On one occa- 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 51 

sion, when all the men had been drinking (as usual) 
heavily, Burns went with the rest to the drawing-room, 
and, entirely forgetting himself, marched up to his hostess 
and kissed her on the lips. The scene may be imagined ! 
The next morning he wrote her a most abject letter of 
apology, in which he says: 

" If I could in any measure be reinstated in the good 
opinion of the fair circle whom my conduct last night so 
much injured, I think it would be an alleviation to my tor- 
ments. For this reason I trouble you with this letter. 
To the men of the company I will make no apology. 
Your husband, who insisted on my drinking more than I 
chose, has no right to blame me; and the other gentle- 
men were partakers of my guilt. But to you, Madam, I 
have much to apologize. Your good opinion I valued as 
one of the greatest acquisitions I had made on earth, and 
I was truly a beast to forfeit it." 

Captain Riddell never forgave Burns. He died a few 
months later. Unfortunately, Burns, exasperated at what he 
considered unfair treatment, wrote several cruel epigrams 
upon Mrs. Riddell, which he afterwards deeply regretted. 

Even such a severe warning had no lasting effect upon 
him, nor the fact that he saw his health was failing. 
On December 29, 1795, he wrote Mrs. Dunlop: "Very 
lately I was a boy; but t'other day I was a young man, 
and I already begin to feel the rigid fibre and stiffening 
joints of old age coming fast o'er my frame." Other 
letters presage his early death. 

In the following January he stayed late at the tavern 
with boon companions, perhaps trying to drown his sorrow 
at the recent loss of his daughter, his "sweet little girl." 
On his way home he was overcome with drowsiness, sat 
down in the snow, and fell asleep. The exposure brought 



52 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

on an attack of rheumatic fever which kept him in bed all 
the rest of the winter, and ended in what he dreaded — 
in " flying gout, — a sad business." 

Even in June he wrote Mrs. Riddell, who had gradually 
restored to him her favor : 

" Racked as I am with rheumatisms, I meet every face 
with a greeting like that of Balak to Balaam : ' Come, 
curse me Jacob; and come, defy me Israel! ' So say I: 
Come, curse me that east wind; and come, defy me the 
north ! Would you have me in such circumstances copy you 
out a love-song? " 

On the fourth of July he was taken to Brow on the 
Solway where Mrs. Riddell was staying. She called upon 
him and saw that "the stamp of death was imprinted 
on his features. He seemed already touching the brink 
of eternity." 

His first greeting was, " Well, Madam, have you any 
commands for the other world? " She wrote these de- 
tails to a friend of hers, and told how anxious Burns 
seemed about his family, and how concerned about the 
care of his literary fame. He wished that such letters 
and verses as had been written with unguarded and 
improper freedom might be burned in oblivion. 

" He lamented," she wrote, " that he had written many 
epigrams on persons against whom he entertained no 
enmity, and whose characters he should be sorry to 
wound; and many indifferent poetical pieces, which he 
feared would now, with all their imperfections on their 
head, be thrust upon the world." 

On the seventh of July he wrote to Mr. Cunningham, 
urging him to use his influence that his full salary might 
be paid him while he was on the sick-list, — his salary as 
Exciseman being reduced, while off duty, to 35;^. instead 
of 50;^. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 53 

Less than a week later he wrote his cousin, Mr. James 
Burness, appealing for assistance. His cousin immediately 
sent him ten pounds, and afterwards offered to bring up 
and educate his son Robert. 

Then he put his pride into his pocket, and " implored " 
Mr. G. Thomson for five pounds, promising, if he recov- 
ered, to furnish him with " five pounds' worth of the neat- 
est song genius" he had seen. That morning he wrote 
his last song : 

" Fairest maid on Devon banks. 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 
Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 

And smile as thou wert wont to do? " 

On the eighteenth he returned to Dumfries in a small 
spring cart. When he alighted, he could not stand. He 
immediately wrote his father-in-law. It was his last 
letter: 

"Do, for Heaven's sake, send Mrs. Armour here 
immediately. My wife is hourly expecting to be put to 
bed. Good God ! what a situation for her to be in, poor 
girl, without a friend ! I returned from sea-bathing quar- 
ters to-day, and my medical friends would almost persuade 
me that I am better; but I think and feel that my strength 
is so gone that the disorder will prove fatal to me." 

His children were sent to the house of Mr. Lewars. 
Miss Jessie Lewars, to whom he had written some of his 
sweetest songs, was sleepless in her attendance upon him. 

On the twenty-first he became delirious. His children 
were allowed to see him for the last time. He died 
(July 21, 1796), with an execration upon the legal agent 
whose threats had troubled him. 

On the evening of July 25 his remains were taken to 



54 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

the Town Hall, and the funeral was conducted on the 
following day. Several regiments of infantry and cavalry 
assisted in the obsequies, which were solemn and impres- 
sive. A long procession marched between rows of mili- 
tary to the sound of the Dead March in Saul. Three 
volleys were fired over the grave. 

During the service Burns's posthumous son, Maxwell, 
was born — a pathetic incident. 

Burns himself predicted that he should be better under- 
stood a hundred years later. He had not to wait a 
hundred years. 

Henry Mackenzie, author of "The Man of Feeling," 
in an article in the Lotingcr, early compared him to 
Shakspere; not in range of genius, but in magnanimity 
and unaffected character, in vigor and power. Hazlitt, 
who uses almost precisely the same words, says in addi- 
tion: "He was as much of a man, not a twentieth part 
of a poet, as Shakspere. ... He had an eye to see, a 
heart to feel — no more. His strength is not greater than 
his weakness; his virtues were greater than his vices; his 
virtues belonged to his genius; his vices to his situation, 
which did not correspond to his genius." 

Lord Jeffrey predicted that the name of Burns would 
endure long after the circumstances that contributed to its 
notoriety were forgotten. 

A writer in the Universal Magazine in 1809 said : "He 
dipt his pencil in the living tints of Nature. . . . Like 
Shakspere, the current of his inspiration was unchecked 
by the cold niceties of critical perfection; it flowed im- 
petuously onward, sometimes spreading into magnificence 
and beauty; sometimes meandering in peaceful murmurs, 
and sometimes rushing with sublime energy over precipices 
and rocks, forming the thundering cataracts or the eddy- 
ing whirlpool." 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 55 

Mrs. Oliphant declares: "Not even for a second 
Shakspere could we let go our Burns;" and she adds: 
" If ever man was anointed and consecrated to a special 
work in this world, for which all his antecedents, all his 
training, all his surrounding circumstances, combined to fit 
him, Robert Burns was that man." 

Carlyle called him " a rugged Saxon brother, one of the 
strongest, noblest men — a Scottish Thor, a true Peasant- 
Thunder-God." 

Almost all men have given equally high tribute to 
Burns. He is the idol of the Scotch; his poems, next to 
the Bible, are their consolation and delight. 

In the splendor of their richness, Burns's faults are 
almost forgotten, or are taken as a lesson. They were the 
faults of his age. Burns left in his own writings the ideal 
to which he would fain have reached. Let us judge him 
by that. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ., OF AYR. 

Let not A inbition mock their tiseful tod, 
Tfieir hotnely joys, a7id destiny obscure ; 

Nor Graftdeur hear, with a disdaiji/id smile. 
The short atid simple annals of the Poor. 

Gray. 

My lov'd, my honored, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays : 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end ; 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 

The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 

What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I 
ween. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 

The shortening winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The blackening trains o' craws to their repose : 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes. 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward 
bend. 

57 



58 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an ag^d tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through 

To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. 



Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, 

At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown. 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e. 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 



With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers. 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 59 

Their master's an' their mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labors wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play : 
An' O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway, 

" An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night ! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

Implore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
aright ! " 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door. 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worth- 
less rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. 

But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; 
Weel-pleas"d to think her bairn's respected like the 
lave. 



6o THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've pac^d much this vi^eary, mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
" If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening 
gale." 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth '. 

Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction 
wild! 



But now the supper crowns their simple board. 

The healsome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food : 
The soupe their only Hawkie does afford. 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood ; 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood. 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell. 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell. 
How 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 6i 

The cheerfu' supper done, wP serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha'-Bible, ance his father''s pride : 
His bonnet revVently is laid aside. 

His lyart hafifets wearing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care. 
And " Let us worship God ! " he says, with solemn air. 



They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; 
Or noble Elgin beets the heavenward flame. 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 



The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 

How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare rage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the roval Bard did orroaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy Seers that tune the sacred lyre. 



62 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay His head ; 
How His first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
How he, who lone in Patmos banishM, 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great BabUon's doom pronouncM by 
Heaven's command. 



Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, 

The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
Hope •' springs exulting on triumphant wing," 

That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear; 
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. 



Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride. 

In all the pomp of method, and of art. 
When men display to congregations wide 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
The Power, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart. 

May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul ; 
And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enrol. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT d^ 

Then homeward all take off their sevVal way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, 
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 



From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

"An honest man's the noblest work of God : " 
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road. 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd ! 



O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! 
And, O, may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ; 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 



64 TAM O'SHANTER. 

O Thou ! who pourM the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart ; 
Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art. 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert. 

But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard. 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 



TAM O' SHANTER. 



Of Brawny is and of Bogilis full in this Biike. 

Gawin Douglas. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' getting fou and unco happy. 
We think na on the lang Scots miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles. 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame. 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm. 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 



TAM O'SHANTER. 65 

(Auld Ayr, wham ne''er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonny lasses.) 

O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, 
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober ; 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller. 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on. 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesy'd that, late or soon. 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon ; 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk. 
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthened, sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Tam had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter ; 
And ay the ale was growing better : 



66 TAM O'SHANTER. 

The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
Wr favors, secret, sweet, and precious : 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy : 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure ; 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flowV, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever; 
Or like the borealis race. 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. — 
Nae man cai> tether time or tide ; — 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane. 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he taks the road in. 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellowM : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 



TAM O 'SHANTER. 67 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet ; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 
Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. — 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw, the chapman smoor'd ; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brakes neck-bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. — 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll : 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil ! — 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle. 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. 



68 TAM O 'SHANTER. 

But Maggie stood right sair astonished, 

Till, by the heel and hand admonishM, 

She ventur'd forward on the light ; 

And, vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ! 

Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 

Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 

Put life and mettle in their heels. 

A winnock-bunker in the east. 

There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 

To gie them music was his charge : 

He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl. 

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 

Coffins stood round like open presses. 

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 

And by some devilish cantraip slight 

Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 

By which heroic Tarn was able 

To note upon the haly table, 

A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 

Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; 

A thief, new-cutted frae the rape, 

Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 

Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted ; 

Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 

A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 

A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 

Whom his ain son o' life bereft. 

The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu\ 

Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 



TAM O'SUANTER. 69 

As Tammie glowrM, amazed, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reePd, they set, they crossed, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. 
And coost her duddies to the wark. 
And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tarn, O Tarn ! had thae been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen. 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen ! 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. 
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdles, 
For ae blink o^ the bonny burdies ! 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwooddie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping and flinging on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kend what was what fu' brawlie 
There was ae winsome wench and wawlie. 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore ; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot. 
And perish'd mony a bonny boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear,) 
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn. 
That while a lassie she had worn, 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie. — 



70 TAM O'SHANTER. 

Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi^ twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cour ; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was, and Strang,) 
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd. 
And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main : 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither. 
And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark !" 
And in an instant all was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke. 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes. 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When, " Catch the thief!" resounds aloud : 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tam ! ah, Tam ! thou'll get thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a wofu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane of the brig : 



THE TWA DOGS. 71 

There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they darena cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump. 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed ; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd. 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 



THE TWA DOGS. 

A TALE. 

'TwAS in that place o' Scotland's isle. 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
Upon a bonny day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure : 



72 THE TWA DOGS. 

His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod. 

His locked, letter d, braw brass collar, 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar 5 
But tho' he was o' high degree. 
The fient a pride — nae pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gipsey's messin. 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him. 
An' stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 
Wha for his friend and comrade had him, 
An' in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang. 
Was made lang syne, — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke. 
As ever lap a sheugh or dike. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face. 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; 
His breast was white, his touzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl. 
Hung owre his hurdles wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff 'd and snowkit ; 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit ; 



THE TWA DOGS. 73 

Whyles scourM awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
An" there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 

C^SAR. 

IVe aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents. 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents : 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonny, silken purse 
As lang's my tail, whare thro' the steeks. 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en, it's nought but toiling. 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin. 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan, 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and such like trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a' the Ian : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in 
I own it's past my comprehension. 



74 THE TWA DOGS. 

LUATH. 

Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't eneugh 
A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, and sic like, 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie o' wee duddie weans. 
An' nought but his han' darg, to keep 
Them right an' tight in thack an' rape. 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters. 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer. 
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger ; 
But, how it comes, I never kend yet. 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly chiels, an clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

C^SAR. 

But then to see how ye're negleckit. 
How hufF'd, an cuff 'd, an' disrespeckit ! 
Lord, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle, 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear. 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; 



THE TWA DOGS. 75 

While they maun stan\ wP aspect humble, 
An' hear it a\ an' fear an' tremble ! 
I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches. 

LUATH. 

They're no sae wretched's ane wad think : 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink ; 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided. 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives : 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and State aifairs ; 
They'll talk o' patronage an' priests, 
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts. 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns. 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns, 
When rural life, o' ev'ry station. 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care, upo' the earth. 



76 THE TWA DOGS. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, 
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, 
The young anes ranting thro' the house, - 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barket wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, 
Are riven out baith root an' branch. 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favor wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha, aiblins, thrang a parliamentin. 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin — 

CyESAR. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith ! I doubt it. 
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, 
An' saying aye or 110'?, they bid him : 
At operas an' plays parading. 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading : 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft. 
To Hague or Calais taks a waft. 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl, 
To learn bo7i ton an' see the worl'. 



THE TWA DOGS. 77 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his fathers auld entails ; 
Or by Madrid he taks the rout, 
To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' nowt ; 
Or down Italian vista startles. 
Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles : 
Then bouses drumly German water, 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival Signoras. 
For Britain's guid ! for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction ! 

LUATH. 

Hech, man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate? 
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ? 
O would they stay aback frae courts. 
An' please themsels wi' countra sports. 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows ; 
Except for breaking o' their timmer, 
Or speaking lightly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock. 
The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk. 
But will ye tell me. Master Caesar, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 



78 THE TWA DOGS. 

CiESAR. 

Lord, man, were ye but whyles where I am, 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

It's true, they need na starve or sweat. 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes : 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They mak enow themselves to vex them ; 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh. 
His acre's till'd, he's right eneugh ; 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel : 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy : 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless ; 
An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places. 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
The men cast out in party-matches, 
Then sowther a' in deep debauches. 
Ae night, they're mad wi' drink an' whoring, 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 



THE BRIGS OF A YR. 79 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whyles, owre the* wee bit cup an' platie. 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, 
Pore ower the devil's pictured beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exceptions, man an' woman ; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloamin brought the night : 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone. 
The kye stood rowtin i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, an' shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they were na men but dogs ; 
An' each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

A POEM. 
INSCRIBED TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ., AYR. 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough. 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush ; 
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn 
bush ; 



8o THE BRIGS OF A YR. 

The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 

Or deep-ton'd plovers, gray, wild-whistling o'er the 

hill. 
Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy independence bravely bred, 
By early poverty to hardship steePd, 
And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field ; 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes? 
Or labor hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose? 
No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward. 
Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 
When Ballantyne befriends his humble name 
And hands the rustic Stranger up to fame, 
With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap ; 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
O' coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
Unnumber'd buds and flow'rs, delicious spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles. 
Are doom'd by Man, that tyrant o'er the weak. 
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstone reek; 



THE BRIGS OF A YR. 8i 

The thuncPring guns are heard on evVy side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feathered field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nae mair the flowV in field or meadow ^ ^ rings ; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee. 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days. 
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze. 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays. 

'Twas in that season ; when a simple Bard, 

Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward? 

Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, 

By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care. 

He left his bed and took his wayward rout, 

And down by Simpson's wheel'd the left about : 

(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high. 

He wander'd out he knew not where nor why :) 

The drowsy Dungeon clock had number'd two. 

And Wallace Tow'r had sworn the fact was true : 

The tide-swoln Firth, wi' sullen-sounding roar, 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore : 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam. 

Crept, gently-crusting, owre the glittering stream. — 



82 THE BRIGS OF A YR. 

When, lo ! on either hand the Hsfning Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistHng wings is heard ; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the Gos drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 
And ken the lingo of the spiritual folk ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a\ they can explain them, 
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appeared o' ancient Pictish race, 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang. 
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 
New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 
That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got ; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls an' whirlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search. 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
He, down the water, gies him this guid-een : — 

AULD BRTG. 

I doubt na, Frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho', faith ! that date, I doubt, ye"ll never see ; 



THE BRIGS OF A YR. 83 

There'll be, if that day come, Til wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet, 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, 
Compare wi' bonny Brigs o' modern time? 
There's men of taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream, 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim. 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
O' sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! puff'd up wi' windy pride ! 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 
I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter. 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains ; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course 
Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes ; 
In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate. 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 



84 THE BRIGS OF A YR. 

And from Glenbuck, down to the Ratton-key, 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthened, tumbling sea ; 
Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies. 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't o't ; 
The Lord be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threatening jut, like precipices : 
O'er arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs, fantastic, stony groves : 
Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free. 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast; 
Fit only for a doited monkish race. 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace. 
Or cuifs of later times, wha held the notion. 
That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! 

AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealins. 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 85 

Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Conveeners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ! 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gie your hurdles to the smiters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers : 
A' ye douce folk IVe borne aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degenerate race ! 
Nae langer RevVend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce. 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three-parts made by Tailors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on damn'd new 
Brigs and Harbors ! 



NEW BRIG. 

Now haud you there ! for faith ye've said enough, 
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through ; 
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 
But, under favor o' your langer beard. 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd : 



86 THE BRIGS OF A YR. 

To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 

I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 

In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can have a handle 

To mouth " a Citizen," a term o' scandal : 

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 

Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' raisins, 

Or gathered liberal views in bonds and seisins. 

If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 

Had shor'd them wi' a glimmer of his lamp. 

And would to Common-sense for once betray'd 

them. 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed. 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight 
A fairy train appear^ in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd : 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung. 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M'Lauchlan, thairm-inspiring sage. 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with High- 
land rage, 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd. 



THE BRIGS OF A YR. 87 

And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspired ! 
No guess could tell what instrument appear^, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
A venerable Chief, advanced in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; 
Then, crowned with tiovvVy hay, came Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn. 
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow ; 
Next followed Courage with his martial stride, 
From where the Feal wild- woody coverts hide; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair: 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : 
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crowiVd with a hazel wreath, 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken, iron instruments of death : 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling 
wrath. 



ELEGY ON CAPT. HENDERSON. 



ELEGY ON CAPT. MATTHEW HENDERSON, 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS 
HONORS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 

But 710W his radiant course is run. 
For Matthew's course was bright ; 

His soul was like the gloriozis sun, 
A tnatchless, Heavenly Light. 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 

The meikle devil wi' a woodie 

Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He's gane, he's gane ! he's frae us torn, 

The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn 

By wood and wild. 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns. 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns. 

Where echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers ! 



ELEGY ON CAPT. HENDERSON. 89 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin. 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee ; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonilie. 

In scented bowVs ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flowVs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at its head. 

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, 

r th' rustling gale. 
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 

Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals. 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair for his sake. 



90 ELEGY ON CAPT. HENDERSON. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bowV, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch towV, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glowr. 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that's dead ! 

Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair. 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 



ELEGY ON CAPT. HENDERSON. 91 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of Hght ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkUng starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever? 
And hast thou crost that unknown river. 

Life's dreary bound? 
Like thee, where shall 1 find another, 

The world around? 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep thee ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! my story's brief. 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief. 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast. 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man ; 

A look of pity hither cast. 
For Matthew was a poor man. 



92 ELEGY ON CAFT. HENDERSON. 

If thou a noble sodger art, 
That passest by this grave, man, 

There moulders here a gallant heart ; 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

The sympathetic tear maun fa'. 
For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain. 
Like the unchanging blue, man ; 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain. 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man ; 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire, 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If only whiggish whingin sot. 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man ; 

May dool and sorrow be his lot, 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



THE VISION. 93 



THE VISION. 

DUAN FIRST. 

The sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The Curlers quat their roarin play, 
An' hungered Maukin taen her way 

To kail-yards green. 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has been. 

The thresher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And whan the day had clos'd his e'e. 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the Spence, right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek. 
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld, clay biggin ; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done nae-thing. 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 



94 THE VISION. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market. 
Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit 

My cash-account : 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof! 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof. 

Or some rash aith, 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme proof 

Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the snick did draw; 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
And by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw. 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; 
I glowr'd as eerie's Pd been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, 

And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token ; 
And come to stop these reckless vows. 

Would soon been broken. 



THE VISION. 95 

A *'hair-brain'd, sentimental trace," 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with Honor. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonny Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue. 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonished view 

A well-known Land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost : 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, 

The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods ; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds, 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 



96 THE VISION. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient Borough rear'd her head ; 

Still, as in Scottish story read. 

She boasts a Race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred. 

And polish'd grace. 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 

Or ruins pendent in the air. 

Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare. 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 

To see a Race heroic wheel. 

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His Country's Saviour, mark him well ! 
Bold Richardton's heroic swell ; 
The Chief on Sark who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And He whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptrd Pictish shade 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I marked a martial Race, portray'd 

In colors strong ; 
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismayed 

They strode along. 



THE VISION. 97 

Thro*' many a wild, romantic grove, 
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 
(Fit liaunts for Friendship or for Love 

In musing mood,) 
An aged Judge, I saw^ him rove. 



With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned Sire and Son I saw, 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore : 
This, all its source and end to draw ; 

That, to adore. 

Brydon's brave Ward I well could spy. 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who caird on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on. 
Where many a Patriot name on high, 
And Hero shone. 

DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair ; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear, 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder Sister's air 

She did me greet. 



" All hail ! my own inspired Bard ! 
In me thy native Muse regard ! 



98 THE VISION. 

Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 
Thus poorly low ! 

I come to give thee such reward 
As we bestow. 

" Know, the great Genius of this land 
Has many a light, aerial band, 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As Arts or Arms they understand, 

Their labors ply. 

" They Scotia's Race among them share, 
Some fire the Soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart : 
Some teach the Bard, a darling care, 

The tuneful art. 

" 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
They, ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or, 'mid the venal Senate's roar. 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest Patriot lore. 
And grace the hand. 

" And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age. 
They bind the wild, Poetic rage 

In energy. 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 



THE VISION. 99 

" Hence, Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
Hence, Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His ' Minstrel lays ; ' 
Or tore, with noble ardor stung, 

The Sceptic's bays. 

" To lower orders are assigned 
The humbler ranks of human-kind, 
The rustic Bard, the labVing Hind, 

The Artisan ; 
All choose, as various they're inclin'd, 

The various man. 

" When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
The threat'ning storm some strongly rein ; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain 

With tillage-skill ; 
And some instruct the Shepherd-train, 

Blythe o'er the hill. 

" Some hint the Lover's harmless wile ; 
Some grace the Maiden's artless smile ; 
Some soothe the Lab'rer's weary toil, 

For humble gains. 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares 'and pains. 

" Some, bounded to a district-space. 
Explore at large Man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic Bard ; 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 



lOO THE VISION. 

" Of these am I — Coila my name ; 

And this district as mine I claim, 

Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, 

Held ruling pow'r : 
I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame, 

Thy natal hour. 

" With future hope, I oft would gaze. 
Fond, on thy little early ways. 
Thy rudely-caroird, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes, 
FirM at the simple, artless lays 

Of other times. 

'* I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the North his fleecy store 

Drove thro'' the sky, 
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

" Or when the deep-green-mantl'd Earth 
Warm-cherish'd ev'ry flow Vet's birth, 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

With boundless love. 

** When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Call'd forth the Reaper's rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

And lonely stalk. 
To vent thy bosom's swellmg rise, 

In pensive walk. 



THE VISION. 1 01 

" When youthful Love, warm-blushing, strong, 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves, along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored Name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 

To soothe thy flame. 

" I saw thy pulse's maddening play. 
Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray. 

By Passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from Heaven. 

" I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains. 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends ; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

Become thy friends. 

" Thou canst not learn, nor can I show. 
To paint with Thomson's landscape-glow ; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe. 

With Shenstone's art ; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

" Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the glade. 



7^0 A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 

" Then never murmur nor repine ; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
And trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

Nor King's regard, 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

A rustic Bard. 

" To give my counsels all in one. 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
Preserve the dignity of Man, 

With Soul erect ; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 

*' And wear thou this" — she solemn said. 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red. 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN 
APRIL, 1786. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem. 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r. 

Thou bonny gem. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 103 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
•The bonny Lark, companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! 

Wi' speckl'd breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpHng east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm. 
Scarce reared above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield, 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed. 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd. 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soiPd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 



I04 TO A MOUSE. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starred ! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n. 
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, 
By human pride or cunning driv'n 

To misery's brink. 
Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom ! 



TO A MOUSE, 

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE 
PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1 785. 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bick'ring brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle ! 



TO A MOUSE. 105 

Pm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 

Which mak's thee startle, 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion. 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 
A daimen-icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request : 
ril get a blessin wi' the lave. 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' foggage green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snell an' keen ! ^ 

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, 
An' weary winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast. 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till crash ! the cruel coulter past. 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble. 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hauld. 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble. 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 



io6 A PR A YE J^. 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best laid schemes o* mice an' men 

Gang aft a-gley, 
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, 

For promised joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear ! 



A PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

O Thou unknown. Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something loudly in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou knows't that Thou hast form'd me 
With passions wild and strong ; 

And list'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 



STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 107 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do Thou, All Good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd. 

No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms ; 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or Death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul offence !" 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But, should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; 
Again in folly's path might go astray ; 

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for Heavenly mercy pray. 

Who act so counter Heavenly mercy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran ? 



io8 TO A LOUSE. 

O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

And still the tumult of the raging sea : 
With that controlling powV assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong furious passions to confine. 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
O, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 



TO A LOUSE, 

ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT CHURCH. 

Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie ! 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner. 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare >e set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner 

On some poor body. 

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle 



TO A LOUSE. 109 

Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

Now haud ye there, yeVe out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rels, snug an' tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'U no be right 

Till ye've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height 

O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump and gray as onie grozet ; 

for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't. 

Wad dress your droddum ! 

1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat ; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi ! fie. 
How daur ye do't? 

O, Jenny, dinna toss your head. 
An' set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin ! 
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin' ! 



no ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID. 

O wad some PowV the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, 

And ev'n Devotion ! 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE 
RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a ■nile, 

A nd hemp them aye thegither ; 
T/te Rigid Righteous zs a fool, 

The Rigid Wise anither : 
The cleanest corn that e''er was dight. 

May hae some pyles (?' caff in ; 
So ne'er a felloiv-creature slight 
For random fits o' daffin. 

Solomon. — Eccles. vii. 16. 

O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
YeVe nought to do but mark and tell 

Your Neebor"'s fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

SupplyM wi' store o' water. 
The heapet happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable Core, 

As counsel for poor mortals. 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door. 

For glaikit Folly's portals ; 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID. 

I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 
Would here propone defences, 

Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, 
Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' their's compar'd, 

And shudder at the niffer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ ; 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye pride in. 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hidin. 



Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop. 
What raging must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It makes an unco leeway. 

See Social life and Glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking. 
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 

Debauchery and Drinking : 
O would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded hell to state. 

Damnation of expenses ! 



112 ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID. 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces. 
Before you gie poor Frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother Man, 

Still gentler sister Woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang. 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark. 

The moving Why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 't is He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord its various tone, 

Each spring its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute. 

But know not what's resisted. 



LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 113 
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, 

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out-owre the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams. 

And glads the azure skies ; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now laverocks wake the merry morn. 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bowV, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis mild wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi^ care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank. 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 



114 LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

I was the Queen o"* bonny France, 

Where happy I hae been, 
Fu^ hghtly rase I in the morn. 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 
And Pm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 

And never-ending care. 



But as for thee, thou false woman. 

My sister and my fae. 
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes. 

Or turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, 

Remember him for me ! 

Oh ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 



THE LASS (9' BALLOCHMYLE. 115 

And in the narrow house o^ death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs that deck the spring 

Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 



THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

Tune — " Miss Forbes' s Farewell to Banff, or Ettrick Banks^ 

'T WAS even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang ; 
The Zephyrs wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the mavis sang, 

All Nature listening seem'd the while : 
Except where green-wood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward stray'd, 

My heart rejoic'd in Nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her hair like Nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd passing by. 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 
And sweet is night in Autumn mild, 

When roving thro' the garden gay. 
Or wandering in a lonely wild : 



Ii6 JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

But Woman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile ; 
Ev'n there her other works are foiPd 

By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 

O, had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 

That ever rose on Scotland's plain ! 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain, 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, 

Where fame and honors lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine ; 
Give me the cot below the pine. 

To tend the flocks or till the soil. 
And every day have joys divine, 

With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

A BALLAD. 

There were three Kings into the east, 
Three Kings both great and high. 

An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN. II7 

They took a plough and ploughed him down, 

Put clods upon his head, 
An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerfu' Spring came kindly on, 

And showYs began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surprised them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came. 

And he grew thick and strong. 
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, 

That no one should him wrong. 

The sober Autumn entered mild. 

When he grew wan and pale ; 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Show'd he began to fail. 

His color sicken'd more and more, 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To shew their deadly rage. 

They\'e ta'en a weapon, long and sharp. 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart. 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back. 

And cudgeird him full sore ; 
They hung him up before the storm, 

And turned him o'er and o'er. 



Il8 JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor. 

To work liim farther woe, 
And still, as signs of life appear'd, 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame. 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all. 

For he crushed him 'tween two stones. 

And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise. 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'T will make your courage rise; 

'T will make a man forget his woe ; 

'T will heighten all his joy ; 
'T will make the widow's heart to sing, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand ; 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 

A DIRGE. 

When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One evening as I wandered forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spyM a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

And hoary was his hair. 

Young stranger, whither wandVest thou ? 

Began the rev'rend Sage ; 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ? 
Or, haply, prest with cares and woes. 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of Man. 

The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Out-spreading far and wide. 
Where hundreds labor to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
I've seen yon weary winter sun 

Twice forty times return : 
And ev'ry time has added proofs. 

That Man was made to mourn. 



I20 MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 

O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force give nature's law, 

That Man was made to mourn. 



Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported in his right, 
But see him on the edge of life. 

With cares and sorrows worn. 
Then age and want, Oh ! ill-match'd pair ! 

Show Man was made to mourn. 

A few seem favorites of fate. 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, Oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land 

Are wretched and forlorn ; 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 121 

And man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

See yonder poor, o'erlabor'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn. 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

If Tm designed yon lordling's slave, 

By nature's law designed, 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

Yet, let not this too much, my son. 

Disturb thy youthful breast ; 
This partial view of human-kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never, sure, been born. 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn! 



122 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend, 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasures torn ; 
But, oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

O Prince ! O Chief of many throned Poivrs, 
That led th^ e7nbattled Seraphim to war — 

Milton. 
O THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 
To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

Ev'n to a deil. 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ; 
Far kend an' noted is thy name ; 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 123 

An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, 

Thou travels far ; 
An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 



Whyles, rangin like a roarin lion 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles on the strong-wirig'd Tempest flyin, 

Tirlin the kirks ; 
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin. 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend Grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld, ruin'd castles, gray, 

Nod to the moon. 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rers way, 

Wi' eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Grannie summon. 
To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortrees comin, 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night. 

The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, 

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough ; 
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sugh. 



124 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL 

The cudgel in my nieve did sliake, 
Each bristl'd hair stood hke a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick, quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd Hke a drake, 

On whisthng wings. 



Let warlocks grim, an' witherM hags, 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags. 
They skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk -yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit dead. 

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain. 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill ; 
An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gaen 

As yell's the Bill. 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse, 
On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an crouse ; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house 

By cantrip wit. 
Is instant made no worth a louse. 

Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, 
An' float the jinglin icy-boord, 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 1 25 

Then, Water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction, 
An' nighted Travellers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Masons' mystic word an' grip. 
In storms an' tempests raise you up. 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop. 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to hell. 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonny yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd. 
An' all the soul of love they shar'd. 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, 

In shady bow'r : 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog! 

Ye came to Paradise incog. 

An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be you fa !) 
An' gied the infant warld a shog, 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 



126 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz. 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better folk. 
An' sklented on the man of Uzz, 

Your spitefu' joke ! 



An' how ye gat him i' your thrall. 
An' brak him out o' house an' hall. 
While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw. 
An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl, 

Was warst ava ? 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin. 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An' cheat you yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 



FAREWELL TO NANCY. 127 

Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake ! 



FAREWELL TO NANCY. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 
Ae fareweel, alas, forever! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears Til pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans Til wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, 
Dark despair around benights me. 

ril ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
But to see her, was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love forever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly. 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure. 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure. 



128 AFTON WATER. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 

Ae fareweel, alas, forever ! 

Deep in heart-wrung tears I pledge thee, 

Warring sighs and groans Fll wage thee. 



AFTON WATER. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, Fll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro"" the glen, 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den. 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, 
Far marked with the courses of clear, winding rills ! 
There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
There oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea. 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snawy feet lave. 
As gathering sweet flowVets she stems thy clear wave. 




X 



Ye banks ami braes o' bonnj^ Doon. 



THE BANKS C BOON. 129 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



THE BANKS O' DOON. 

Tune — " The Caledotitati Huni's delight.'''' 

Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ! 
How can ye chant, ye little birds. 

And I sae weary fu' o' care ! 
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird. 

That wantons thro' the flowering thorn : 
Thou minds me o' departed joys, 

Departed — never to return. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonny bird, 

That sings beside thy mate. 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 

And wist na o' my fate. 
Aft hae I rov'd by bonny Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
And ilka a bird sang o' its luve. 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 

And my fause luver stole my rose. 
But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



130 VERSION IN MUSICAL MUSEUM. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Upon a morn in June ; 
And sae I flourish'd on the morn, 

And sae was pu'd on noon. 



VERSION PRINTED IN THE MUSICAL 
MUSEUM. 

Ye flowery banks o' bonny Doon, 

How can ye blume sae fair ! 
How can ye chant, ye little birds. 

And I sae fu' o' care. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonny bird, 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days. 

When my fause luve was true. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonny bird, 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonny Doon, 

To see the woodbine twine. 
And ilka bird sang o' its love, 

And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi" lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Frae oif its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw the rose 

But left the thorn wi^ me. 



HARK! THE MAVIS, 
HARK! THE MAVIS. 

Tune — " Co' the Vowes to the KnowesV 
CHORUS. 

Ca^ the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca^ them where the burnie rows, 
My bonny dearie. 

Hark ! the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang, 
Then a faulding let us gang, 
My bonny dearie. 
Ca' the, etc. 

We'll gae down by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide. 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' the, etc. 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshine midnight hours. 
O'er the dewy-bending flowers. 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, etc. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou'rt to love and Heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near. 
My bonie dearie. 
Ca' the, etc. 



132 A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart ; 
I can die — but canna part, 
My bonny dearie. 
Ca' the, etc. 

While waters wimple to the sea ; 
While day blinks in the lift sae hie ; 
Till clay-cauld death shall blin"" my ee, 
Ye shall be my dearie. 
Ca' the, etc. 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool. 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool. 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a Bard of rustic song. 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among. 

That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here, heave a sigh. 

Is there a man whose judgment clear. 
Can others teach the course to steer, 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. I33 

Yet runs, himself, life's mad career. 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear 

Survey this grave. 

The poor Inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn and wise to know. 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer fiame^ 
But thoughtless follies laid him low. 

And stain'd his name ! 

Reader, attend ! — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole. 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 

ELLISLAND, 2IST OCT., I789. 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie? 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send you ay as weePs I want ye, 

And then ye'll do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 



134 TO DR BLACKLOCK. 

He talcl mysel by word o' mouth, 

He'd tak my letter ; 
I lippenM to the chiel in trouth, 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty .fair one, 
To ware his theologic care on, 

And holy study ; 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on, 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 
Fm turned a gauger — Peace be here ! 
Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear 

Ye'll now disdain me ! 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha by Castalia's wimplin' streamies, 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbics, 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies. 

They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies ; 

Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is — 

I need na vaunt. 
But T'll sned besoms — thraw saugh woodies, 

Before they want. 



rO DR. BLACKLOCK. 135 

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care ! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air ! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than mony ithers ; 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers? 

Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van, 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man ! 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'r wan 

A lady fair ; 
Wha does the utmost that he can. 

Will whyles do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 

(Pm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 

To make a happy fireside clime 

To weans and wife. 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 

And eke the same to honest Lucky, 

I wat she is a daintie chuckle. 

As e'er tread clay ! 

And gratefully, my guid auld cockle, 

* I'm yours for ay. 

Robert Burns. 



136 EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

MAY, 1786. 

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae ither end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps, it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps, turn out a sermon. 

Yell try the world soon, my lad, 

And, Andrew dear, believe me, 
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad. 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to nought, 

Where evVy nerve is strained. 

ril no say, men are villains a'; 

The real, hardened wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked : 
But och ! mankind are unco weak. 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 137 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife. 

Their fate we should na censure, 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Aye, free, aff han' your story tell. 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony ; 
Conceal yoursel as weePs ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love. 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it ; 
I wave the quantum o' the sin. 

The hazard o' concealing ; 
But och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling! 

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile. 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justify'd by honor ; 



138 EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Not for a train attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' helPs a hangman's whip, 

To hand the wretch in order ; 
But where ye feel your honor grip, 

Let that aye be your border : 
Its slightest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere. 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear. 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist-laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended ! 

When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random sting. 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heaven 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 



KE NATURE'S ON AND AW A. 139 

Adieu, dear, amiable Youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth, 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed," 

Still daily to grow wiser ; 
And may ye better reck the rede, 

Than ever did th' Adviser ! 



KENMURE'S ON AND AWA. 

Tune — *' (? Kenjjture's on and awa, IVillie.^^ 

O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie ! 

O Kenmure''s on and awa ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie! 

Success to Kenmure's band ! 
There's no a heart that fears a Whig 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie ! 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine ! 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, 

Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

O Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 



140 THE SODGER'S RETURN. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon, wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame. 

Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! 

Here's him that's far awa ; 
And here's the flower that I love best 

The rose that's like the snaw ! 



THE SODGER'S RETURN. 

Tune — " The Mill Mill C" 

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And mony a widow mourning : 
I left the lines and tented field, 

Where lang I'd been a lodger. 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder ; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again 

I cheery on did wander. 
1 thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 



THE SODGEIVS RETURN. 141 

At length I reached the bonny glen, 

Where early life I sported ; 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn, 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
Wha spied 1 but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turned me round to hide the flood 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' altered voice, quoth I, Sweet lass, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn blossom, 
O ! happy, happy may he be. 

That's dearest to thy bosom ! 
My purse is light, I've far to gang. 

And fain wad be thy lodger ; 
I've serv'd my King and Country lang — 

Take pity on a sodger ! 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me. 

And lovelier was than ever : 
Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed, 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare. 

Ye freely shall partake it. 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't. 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose — 

Syne pale like onie lily ; 
She sank within my arms, and cried, 

Art thou my ain dear Willie ? 



142 MV NANIE, O. 

By Him who made yon sun and sky, 
By whom true love's regarded, 

1 am the man ; and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded ! 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame. 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 
Quo' she. My grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailen plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main. 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's prize ; 

The sodger's wealth is honor : 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise. 

Nor count him as a stranger, 
Remember he's his country's stay 

In day and hour o' danger. 



MY NANIE, O. 

Behind yon hills where Stinchar* flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I'll awa' to Nanie, O. 

Lugar in many editions : a change suggested by Burns. 



MY NANIE, O. 143 

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrill ; 

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O : 
But ril get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, 

An' owre the hills to Nanie O. 

My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young : 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nanie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
• As spotless as she's bonny, O : 
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nanie, O. 

A country lad is my degree. 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome aye to Nanie, O. 

My riches a's my penny-fee, 

An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 

My thoughts are a' my Nanie, O. 

Our auld Guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonny, O ; 

But I'm as blythe that hands his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nanie, O. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will send me, O ; 

Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live, an' love my Nanie, O. 



144 LOGAN BRAES. 

LOGAN BRAES. 

Tune — ^' Logan Water. ''^ 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flowery banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear. 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes. 

Again the merry month o' May 
Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. 
The bees hum round the breathing flov 
Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye, 
And evening's tears are tears of joy : 
My soul, delightless, a' surveys, 
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush ; 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer. 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days. 
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes. 

O wae upon you, men o' state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. 145 

As ye mak mony a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
But soon may peace bring happy days, 
And Willie hame to Logan Braes ! 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE, 

WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY 
TORMENTED BY THAT DISORDER. 

My curse upon your venom'd stang, 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang ; 
And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 

Like racking engines ! 

When fever burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbor's sympathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases, 

Ay mocks our groan ! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
As round the fire the giglets keckle 

To see me loup ; 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle 

Were in their doup. 



146 AULD LANG SYNE. 

O' a' the numerous human dools, 

111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, — 

Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools, 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
Whence a' the tones o' misVy yell. 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell. 

In dreadfu' raw. 
Thou Toothache, surely bear'st the bell 

Amang them a' ! 

O thou grim mischief-making chiel. 
That gars the notes of discord squeel. 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick ; — 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmont's Toothache. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min'? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 

CHORUS. 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne. 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 



BANNOCKDURN. T47 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But weVe wander'd mony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 

We twa hae paidPt i' the burn. 

From mornin sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere. 

And gie's a hand o^ thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught. 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp. 

And surely Fll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 



BANNOCKBURN. 

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 

Tune — " Hey tuttie tattled 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie. 



148 HIGHLAND MARY. 

Now's the day, and now^s the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lower ; 
See approach proud Edward's power - 
Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
Wha sae base as be a slave? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's King and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw. 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa' ? 
Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall — they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 
Forward ! let us do, or die ! 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Tune — " Katharine Ogie.''^ 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers. 

Your waters never drumlie ! 



HIGHLAND MARY. 149 

There Simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings. 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life. 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace. 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And closed for ay the sparkling glance, 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust. 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



T50 TO MARY TN HEAVEN. 

TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Tune — " Miss Forbes' s farewell to Banff V 

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray. 

That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove. 
Where by the winding Ayr we met. 

To live one day of parting love ? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we H was our last ! 

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild-woods, thick'ning green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd am'rous round the raptured scene. 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 

The birds sang love on evVy spray. 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memVy wakes, 
And fondly broods with miser care! 



PRAYER FOR MARY. 151 

Time but the impression stronger makes. 
As streams their channels deeper wear. 

My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
Where is thy blissful place of rest ? 

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 



PRAYER FOR MARY. 

Tune — " Blue Bonnets.'''' 

Powers celestial, whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair. 
While in distant climes I wander 

Let my Mary be your care : 
Let her form sae fair and faultless, 

Fair and faultless as your own ; 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit 

Draw your choicest influence down. 



Make the gales you waft around her 

Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 

Soothe her bosom into rest : 
Guardian angels, O protect her. 

When in distant lands I roam ; 
To realms unknown while fate exiles me, 

Make her bosom still my home. 



152 MV A IN KIND DEARIE O. 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE O. 

When o'er the hill the eastern star 

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo ; 
And owsen frae the furrowM field 

Return sae dowf and wearie O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented birks 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
ril meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie O. 



In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O, 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 

And I were ne'er sae wearie O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 



The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo, 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin gray, 

It maks my heart sae cheery O 
To meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie O. 



MV WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 153 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonny wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer. 

And neist my heart Til wear her, 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonny wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The warld's wrack, we share o't, 
The warstle and the care o't ; 
Wi' her Til biythely bear it. 
And think my lot divine. 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent, 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonny brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is beld, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my jo. 



154 O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And mony a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither ; 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go. 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson my jo. 



O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 

Tune — " The Lass of Livingstone.'''' 

O, WERT thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

rd shelter thee, Td shelter thee. 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare, 
The desart were a paradise. 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign. 
The only jewel in my crown 

Wad be. my queen, wad be my queen. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 155 

A RED, RED ROSE. 

Tune — " WisJmw's favorite.^'' 

O, MY luve's like a red, red rose. 

That's newly sprung in June : 
O, my luve's like the melodie 

Thafs sweetly played in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonny lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 
I will luve thee still, my dear. 

While the sands o' life shall run. 

\ 

And fare thee weel, my only luve, 

And fare thee weel awhile ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 



MARY MORISON. 

Tune — " Bide ye yetP 

O Mary, at thy window be. 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! 

Those smiles and glances let me see. 
That makes the miser's treasure poor ; 



156 BONNY LESLEY. 

How blythely wad I bide the stoure, 
A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 

Could I the rich reward secure, 
The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha% 
To thee my fancy took its wing, 

I sat, but neither heard or saw : 
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 

And yon the toast of a' the town, 
I sigh'd, and said amang them a\ 

" Ye are nae Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie. 

At least be pity to me shown ! 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



BONNY LESLEY. 

Tune — " The Collier's boimy Dochter.'' 

O SAW^ ye bonny Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border ? 

She's gane, like Alexander, 
To spread her conquests farther. 



COMING THROUGH THE RYE. 157 

To see her is to love her, 

And love but her forever ; 
For Nature made her what she is, 

And ne'er made sic anither ! 

Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects we, before thee : 
Thou art divine. Fair Lesley, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee, 

Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
He'd look into thy bonny face. 

And say, " I canna wrang thee." 

The Powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha'na steer thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely. 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, Fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonny. 



COMING THROUGH THE RYE. 

Tune — " Coming through the rye." 

Coming through the rye, poor body, 

Coming through the rye. 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 



158 FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT, 

Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie. 

Coming through the rye. 

Gin a body meet a body — 
Coming through the rye ; 

Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need a body cry ? 

Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through the glen. 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need the world ken ? 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body ; 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie. 

Coming through the rye. 



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 
Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward-slave, we pass him by. 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea stamp ; 
The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine. 
Wear hodden-gray, and a' that ; 

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man's a man for a' that. 



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 159 

For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 

Is King o' men for a' that. 



Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a"* that; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word. 
He's but a coof for a' that : 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His riband, star, and a' that, 
The man of independent mind. 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest mane's aboon his might, 
Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their dignities, and a' that. 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may. 

As come it will for a' that ; 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It's coming yet, for a' that. 
That man to man, the warld o'er, 
Shall brothers be for a' that. 



;6o AIV BONNY MARY— YOUNG JESSIE. 



MY BONNY MARY. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink before I go, 

A service to my bonny lassie. 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu'' loud the w^ind blaws frae the ferry ; 
The ship rides by the Berwick -law, 

And I maun leave my bonny Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar. 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad mak me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar. 

It's leaving thee, my bonny Mary. 



YOUNG JESSIE. 

Tune — " Bonnie Djcndee.''^ 

TRUE-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; 
Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover, 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 



DUNCAN GRAY. i6i 

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, 

And sweet is the Hly at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; 

Enthroned in her een he delivers his law : 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger ! 

Her modest demeanor's the jewel of a\ 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

Duncan Gray cam' here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
On blythe yule night when we were fu'. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in. 
Great his een baith bleef t and blin', 
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Time and chance are but a tide. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Slighted love is sair to bide. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



i62 ON SENSIBILITY. 

Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me ! 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

How it comes let doctors tell. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Meg grew sick — as he grew well, 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Something in her bosom wrings, 

For relief a sigh she brings ; 

And O, her een, they spak sic things ! 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan couldna be her death. 

Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 

Now they're crouse and cantie baith ! 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



ON SENSIBILITY. 

TO MY DEAR AND MUCH HONORED FRIEND, MRS. 
DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP. 

Air — " Sensibility.'''' 

Sensibility, how charming, 

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell ; 

But distress, with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well ! 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 163 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 

Blooming in the sunny ray : 
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley. 

See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, 

Telling o'er his little joys ; 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest 

To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure 

Finer feelings can bestow ; 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

Tune — ^' If thotc'lt play me fair play .'''' 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw. 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 
Wore a plaid and was fu' braw, 

Bonny Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue. 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
His royal heart was firm and true, 

Bonny Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound and cannons roar, 
Bonny lassie, Lawland lassie, 

And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 
Bonny Lawland lassie. 



1 64 A HE ALT// TO THEM THAT'S AW A. 

Glory, Honor, now invite, 
Bonny lassie, Lawland lassie, 

For Freedom and my King to fight. 
Bonny Lawland lassie. 

The sun a backward course shall take, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 
Ere aught thy manly courage shake ; 

Bonny Highland laddie. 
Go, for yoursel procure renown. 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 
And for your lawful King his crown, 

Bonny Highland laddie ! 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THATS AWA, 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause. 

May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
It's guid to be merry and wise, 

It's guid to be honest and true. 
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, 

And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 
Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to Charlie the chief o' the clan, 
Altho' that his band be but sma'. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 165 

May liberty meet wP success ! 

May prudence protect her frae evil ! 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie, 

That lives at the lug o' the law ! 
Here's freedom to him that wad read, 

Here's freedom to him that wad write ! 
There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be 
heard, 

But they wham the truth wad indite. 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 
Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a Chieftain worth gowd, 

Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 
Here's a health to them that's awa, etc. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe. 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valor, the country of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands forever I love. 



i66 I LOVE MY JEAN. 

Farewell to the mountains high-coverM with snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 



I LOVE MY JEAN. 

Tune — " Mrs. Adjuiral Gordoti's Strathspey.''^ 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west. 
For there the bonny lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonny flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
There's not a bonny bird that sings. 

But riiinds me o' my Jean. 



IT IS NA JEAN, THY BONNY FACE. 167 
IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNY FACE. 

Tune — " The Maid''s Complaint.'''' 

It is na, Jean, thy bonny face, 

Nor shape that I admire. 
Although thy beauty and thy grace 

Might weel awake desire. 
Something, in ilka part o^ thee, 

To praise, to love, I find ; 
But dear as is thy form to me. 

Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae. 

Nor stronger in my breast. 
Than if I canna mak thee sae, 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee : 
And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, 

For thee Fd bear to die. 



THE BLISSFUL DAY. 

Tune — " Sevejith of Xovembery 

The day returns, my bosom burns. 
The blissful day we twa did meet ; 

Tho' winter wild in tempest toiPd, 
Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. 



1 68 A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. 

Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 
And crosses o^er the sultry line ; 

Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes. 
Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
While joys above my mind can move, 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 



A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. 

Tune — " The Shepherd's Wife:' 

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled. 
In a' its crimson glory spread. 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest. 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 



M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL. 169 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 
Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair. 
On trembling string or vocal air. 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent^'s evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 



M'PHERSON^S FAREWELL. 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong. 

The wretch's destinie : 
M'Pherson''s time will not be long 

On yonder gallows tree. 

CHORUS. 

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 
He play'd a spring and danc'd it round. 

Below the gallows tree. 

Oh, what is death but parting breath? — 

On mony a bloody plain 
Fve dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 

Sae rantingly, etc. 



70 GREEN GROWS THE RASHES. 

Untie these bands from off my hands, 
And bring to me my sword ! 

And there's no a man in all Scotland, 
But ril brave him at a word. 
Sae rantingly, etc. 

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife ; 

I die by treacherie : 
It burns my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 

Sae rantingly, etc. 

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame disdain his name. 

The wretch that dares not die ! 
Sae rantingly, etc. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 

A FRAf.MENT. 

CHORUS. 

Green grow the rashes, O ; 

Green grow the rashes, O ; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, 

Are spent amang the lasses, O ! 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han'. 
In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 

What signifies the life o' man, 
And 't were na for the lasses, O. 
Green grow, etc. 



LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN 17 1 

The warly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly them, O ; 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
Green grow, etc. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 

My arms about my dearie, O ; 
An' warly cares, an' warly men, 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 
Green grow, etc. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O : 

The wisest man the warl' saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 
Green grow, etc. 

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

Her prentice han' she tried on man. 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow, etc. 



LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN. 

Tune — " Duncan Gray.'''' 

Let not woman e'er complain 

Of inconstancy in love. 
Let not woman e'er complain. 

Fickle man is apt to rove : 



172 O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FALR. 

Look abroad through Nature's range, 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 

Ladies, would it not be strange, 
Man should then a monster prove ? 

Mark the winds, and mark the skies ; 

Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 
Sun and moon but set to rise, 

Round and round the seasons go. 

Why then ask of silly man. 

To oppose great Nature's plan ? 

We'll be constant while we can — 
You can be no more, you know. 



O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR. 

Tune — " //?<'^/i/^ Graluun.'''' 

O WERE my love yon lilac fair, 

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 

And I, a bird to shelter there. 
When wearied on my little wing ; 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing on wanton wing, 

When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 

O gin my love were yon red rose 
That grows upon the castle wa', 

And I mysel' a drap o' dew, 
Into her bonny breast to fa' ! 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 173 

Oh, there beyond expression blest, 

rd feast on beauty a' the night ; 
SeaPd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 

Till fleyM awa' by Phoebus' light. 



THE DEIUS AW A' WP TH' EXCISEMAN. 

The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 

And danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman ; 
And ilka wife cry'd " Auld Mahoun, 

We wish you luck o' the prize, man." 

Chorus : The DeiPs awa, the Deil's awa, etc. 

" We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink, 
We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man ; 

And mony braw thanks to the meikle black Deil. 
That danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman, 

" There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, 
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 

But the ae best dance e'er cam to the Ian' 
Was — the Deil's awa wi' th' Exciseman." 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 

Tune — " The deuks dank o'er my daddy. 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 



174 THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 

CHORUS. 

Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, 
I set me down vvi' right good will, 
To sing my Highland lassie, O. 



Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, etc. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me. 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currents flow 
ril love my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, etc. 

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honor's glow. 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, etc. 

For her I'll dare the billow's roar, 
For her I'll trace a distant shore. 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, etc. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 175 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honor's band ! 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
Fm thine, my Highland lassie, O. 



Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O ! 
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O ! 
To other lands I now must go. 
To sing my Highland lassie, O ! 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 

Tune — " The blathrie o'ty 

I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, Fll dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonny blue. 
'T was not her golden ringlets bright, 

Her lips Hke roses wat wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom lily-white ; — 

It was her een sae bonny blue. 

She talked, she smiPd, my heart she wyPd, 

She charm'd my soul I wist na how ; 
And ay the stound, the deadly wound. 

Cam frae her een sae bonny blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, Fll lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonny blue. 



176 PEGGY'S CHARMS. 
PEGGY'S CHARMS. 

Tune — "Neil Gow^s Lajne^itation /or Abercairny: 

Where, braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Ochils rise, 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes. 
As one who, by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd doubly, marks it beam 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour. 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd. 

When first I felt their pow'r ! 
The tyrant death with grim control 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



ALTHO' THOU MAUN NEVER BE MINE. 

Tune — ^'■Here's a Health to them that''s awa, Hiney" 
CHORUS. 

Here's a health to ane 1 lo'e dear, 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 177 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, etc. 



I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day. 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms : 

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber. 
For then I am lockt in thy arms — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, etc. 



I guess by the dear angel smile, 
I guess by the love-rolling ee ; 

But why urge the tender confession 
'Gainst fortune's cruel decree — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, etc. 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Young Jockey was the blithest lad 

In a' our town or here awa ; 
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud, 

Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha' ! 
He roos'd my een sae bonny blue, 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma' ; 
An' aye my heart came to my mou, 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 



178 WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO? 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw ; 
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. 
An' aye the night comes round again, 

When in his arms he takes me a' ; 
An' aye he vows he'll be my ain 

As lang's he has a breath to draw. 



WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WP AN 
AULD MAN? 

Tune — " What can a Lassie doV 

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 

Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian ! 
Bad luck on the penny, etc. 

He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, 
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang : 

He's doylt and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
I never can please him do a' that I can ; 

He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows : 
O, dool on the day, I met wi' an auld man ! 




A guid New- Year 
I wish thee, Maggie ! '' 



THE AULD FARMER'S SALUTATION. 179 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 
ril do my endeavor to follow her plan ; 

ril cross him, and rack him, until I heart-break him, 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 



THE AULD FARMERVS NEW-YEAR MORN- 
ING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, 
MAGGIE, 

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN 
TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR. 

A GUID New-Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie : 
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, 

Pve seen the day, 
Thou could hae gane like ony staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiif, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek and glaizie, 

A bonny gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank. 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank. 

Like ony bird. 



l8o THE AULD FARMER'S SALUTATION. 

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, 
Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, 

An' fifty mark ; 
The' it was sma', 't was weel-won gear. 

An' thou was stark. 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickle, slee, an' fijnnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, and cannie. 

An unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride. 
When ye bure hame my bonny bride ; 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide. 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble, . 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble. 
That day ye was a j inker noble 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble. 

Far, far behin'. 

When thou an' I were young and skeigh, 

An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh. 

How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skeiegh, 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's-bodies ran, and stood abeigh, 

An' ca't thee mad. 



THE AULD FARMER'S SALUTATION. i8l 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, 

An' gart them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazle, 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan', 

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun. 

On guid March-weather 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit. 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd briskit, 

Wi' pith an' pow'r, 
Till spritty knowes wad rair't and riskit, 

An' slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep. 
An' threaten'd labor back to keep, 
Fgied thy cog a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 



1 82 THE AULD FARMER'S SALUTATION. 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 

The steyest brae thou wad hae face't it ; 

Thou never lap, an' sten't, and breastit, 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

Thou snoov't awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' : 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, 

The very warst. 

Mony a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
An' mony an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan'. 
That now perhaps thou's less deservin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin, 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



SKETCH. 183 



SKETCH. 

A Little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, 
And still his precious self his dear delight ; 
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets : 
A man of fashion too, he made his tour, 
Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive Tamour ; 
So travelPd monkeys their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies^ love. 
Much specious lore, but little understood ; 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : 
His solid sense — by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell ; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 



WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN GRAY. 

Tune — " Dzmcan Gray.'''' 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! - 
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
When a' the lave gae to their play, 
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day. 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae. 

And a' for the girdin o't ! 



184 THE FAREWELL. 

Bonny was the Lammas moon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
The girdin brak, the beast cam down, 
I tint my curch, and baith my shoon ; 
Ah ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon — 

Wae on the bad girdin' o't ! 

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Ise bless you wi' my hindmost breath — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Duncan, gin yell keep your aith, 
The beast again can bear us baith. 
And auld Mess John will mend the skaith, 

And clout the bad girdin o't ! 



THE FAREWELL. 

TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, 
TARBOLTON. 

Tune — " Gziid night, a7idjoy be wV you a'." 

Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favor'd, ye enlighten^ few. 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing Fortune's sliddYy ba\ 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

ril mind you still, tho' far awa\ 



THE FAREWELL. 185 

Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night ; 
Oft, honored with supreme command, 

Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And by that hieroglyphic bright. 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa^ ! 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design. 
Beneath th' Omniscient eye above, 

The glorious Architect Divine ! 
That you may keep th' unerring line. 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till Order bright, completely shine, 

Shall be my prayV when far awa\ 

And You, farewell ! whose merits claim 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honor'd, noble name, 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a\ 
One round, I ask it with a tear. 

To him, the Bard that's far awa'. 



i86 ELEGY ON THE YEAR 17S8. 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 

SKETCH. 

For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die — for that they're born : 
But oh ! prodigious to reflec' ! 
A Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint a head, 
And my auld teethless Bawtie's dead ! 
The tulzie's sair 'tween Pitt an' Fox, 
An' our gude wife's wee birdy cocks ; 
The tane is game, a bludie devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
The tither's something dour o' treadin, 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden. 

Ye ministers, come mount the poupit, 
An' cry till ye be haerse an' roupit. 
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
And gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 
E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck. 

Ye bonny lasses, dight your een. 
For some o' you hae tint a frien' ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 

Observe the very nowt an' sheep. 
How dowf and daviely they creep ; 



SKETCH.— NEW-YEAR DAY, 187 

Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry, 
For E^mbrugh wells are grutten dry. 
O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care. 
Thou now has got thy daddie's chair, 
Nae hand-cufifd, mizzPd, hap-shackPd Regent, 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest man : 
As muckle better as you c.in. 

January i, 17S9. 



SKETCH. — NEW-YEAR DAY. [1790.] 

TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

This day Time winds th' exhausted chain. 
To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow, 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpaired machine 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 
The absent lover, minor heir. 
In vain assail him with their prayer. 
Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press. 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's with the hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day. 



SKE TCH. — NE W- YEA R DA V. 

And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow — 
— That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow 
And join with me a moralizing, 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver ? 
" Another year has gone forever." 
And what is this day's strong suggestion ? 
" The passing moment's all we rest on ! " 
Rest on — for what ? what do we here? 
Or why regard the passing year? 
Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore, 
Add to our date one minute more? 
A few days may, a few years must, 
Repose us in the silent dust ; 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ! 
The voice of Nature loudly cries. 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in us never dies ; 
That on this frail, uncertain state 
Hang matters of eternal weight ; 
That future-life in worlds unknown 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as heavenly glory bright. 
Or dark as misery's woful night. — 

Since then, my honor'd, first of friends, 
On this poor being all depends ; 
Let us th' important Now employ. 
And live as those that never die. 

Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd, 
Witness that filial circle round. 



SKETCH. 189 



(A sight — life's sorrows to repulse ; 
A sight — pale Envy to convulse ;) 
Others may claim your chief regard ; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 



SKETCH. 



INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX. 

How Wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
How Virtue and Vice blend their black and their 

white ; 
How Genius, tlV illustrious father of fiction, 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction — 
I sing; If these mortals, the Critics, should bustle, 
I care not, not I — let the Critics go whistle ! 

But now for a Patron, whose name and whose glory 
At once may illustrate and honor my story. 

Thou, first of our orators, first of our wits ; 

Yet whose parts and acquirements seem just lucky 

hits : 
With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so 

strong, 
No man, with the half of 'em, e'er could go wrong ; 
With passions so potent, and fancies so bright. 
No man with the half of 'em e'er could go right ; 
A sorry, poor, misbegot son of the Muses, 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 
Good Lord, what is man ! for as simple he looks, 
Do but try to develop his hooks and his crooks. 



igo SKETCH. 

With his depths and his shallows, his good and his 

evil, 
All in all, he's a problem must puzzle the devil. 
On his one ruling Passion Sir Pope hugely labors, 
That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up its 

neighbors : 
Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you 

know him? 
Pull the string. Ruling Passion, the picture will show 

him. 
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system. 
One trifling particular. Truth, should have miss'd 

him ! 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions. 
Mankind is a science defies definitions. 



Some sort all our qualities each to his tribe, 
And think Human-nature they truly describe ; 
Have you found this, or t'other? there's more in the 

wind. 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan 
In the make of the wonderful creature call'd Man, 
No two virtues, whatever relation they claim. 
Nor even two different shades of the same. 
Though like as was ever twin-brother to brother 
Possessing the one shall imply you've the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce with a muse. 
Whose rhymes you'll perhaps. Sir, ne'er deign to 
peruse : 



SOA'G. 191 

Will you leave your justings, your jars, and your 

quarrels, 
Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels ! 
My much-honord Patron, believe your poor Poet, 
Your courage much more than your prudence you 

show it, 
In vain with Squire Billy for laurels you struggle. 
He'll have them by fair trade, if not, he will smuggle ; 
Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em. 
He'd up the back-stairs, and by G he would 

steal 'em. 
Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er can achieve 

'em. 
It is not, outdo him — the task is, out-thieve him. 



SONG. 

Tune — " Maggy Lauder." 

When first I saw fair Jeanie's face, 

I couldna tell what ailed me. 
My heart went fluttering pit-a-pat, 

My een they almost failed me. 
She's ay sae neat, sae trim, sae tight. 

All grace does round her hover, 
Ae look deprived me o' my heart, 

And I became a lover. 
She's aye, aye sae blythe, sae gay, 

She's aye sae blythe and cheerie ; 
She's aye sae bonny, blythe, and gay, 

O gin I were her dearie ! 



[92 THE H ETHER WAS BLOOMING. 

Had I Dundas's whole estate, 

Or Hopetoun's wealth to shine in ; 
Did warlike laurels crown my brow, 

Or humbler bays entwining — 
I'd lay them a' at Jeanie's feet, 

Could I but hope to move her, 
And prouder than a belted knight, 

rd be my Jeanie's lover. 

She's aye, aye sae blythe, sae gay, etc. 

But sair I fear some happier swain 

Has gained sweet Jeanie's favor : 
If so, may every bliss be hers. 

Though I maun never have her : 
But gang she east, or gang she west, 

'Twixt Forth and Tweed all over, 
While men have eyes, or ears, or taste, 

She'll always find a lover. 

She's aye, aye sae blythe, sae gay, etc. 



THE HEATHER WAS BLOOMING. 

The heather was blooming, the meadows were 

mawn. 
Our lads gaed a hunting, ae day at the dawn. 
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen. 
At length they discover'd a bonny moor-hen. 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring, 

But cannily steal on a bonny moor-hen. 




"Then, whirr! she was over, a mile 
at a fiioht." 



THE BLUDE RED ROSE. 193 

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather 

bells, 
Her colors betray''d her on yon mossy fells ; 
Her plumage out-lustred the pride o' the spring, 
And O ! as she wanton'd gay on the wing. 
I rede, etc. 

Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the hill, 
In spite, at her plumage attempted his skill : 
He levelled his rays where she bask'd on the brae — 
His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she 
lay. 
I rede, etc. 

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill. 
The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill ; 
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight. 
Then, whirr ! she was over, a mile at a flight. 
I rede, etc. 



THE BLUDE RED ROSE AT YULE MAY 
BLAW. 

Tune — " To daunton mey 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw. 
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw. 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; 
But an auld man shall never daunton me. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flattering tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



194 O M ALLY'S MEEK, MA LEY'S SWEET. 

For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut, 
For 2C his gold and white monie, 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 

His gear may buy him kye and yowes, 
His gear may buy him glens and knowes ; 
But me he shall not buy nor fee, 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 

He hirples twa fauld as he dow, 
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, 
And the rain rains down frae his red bleerM ee — 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatfring tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET. 

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 

Mally's every way complete. 
As I was walking up the street, 

A barefit maid I chanced to meet ; 
But O the road was very hard 

For that fair maiden's tender feet. 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY LASS. 195 

It were mair meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shoon, 

And 't were more fit that she should sit 
Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 

Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 

Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck, 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies. 

Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 

Mally's every way complete. 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY BONNY 
LASS. 

Tune — " Laggan Burn.''^ 

Here's to thy health, my bonny lass, 
Gude night, and joy be wi' thee ; 

I'll come nae mair to thy bower door. 
To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 

dinna think, my pretty pink, 
That I can live without thee : 

1 vow and swear I dinna care 

How lang ye look about ye. 

Thou'rt ay sae free informing me 
Thou hast nae mind to marry ; 

I'll be as free informing thee 
Nae time hae I to tarry. 



196 HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 

I ken thy friends try ilka means, 

Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 
Depending on some higher chance — 

But fortune may betray thee. 

I ken they scorn my low estate, 

But that does never grieve me ; 
But I'm as free as any he, 

Sma' siller will relieve me. 
I count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae lang as I enjoy it : 
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want, 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far aff fowls hae feathers fair, 

And ay until ye try them : 
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care, 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, when the moon shines 
bright. 

My dear, I'll come and see thee; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel 

Nae travel makes him weary. 



HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 

Tune — " The Dusty Miller^ 

Hey, the dusty miller, 
And his dusty coat ; 
He will win a shilHng, 
^ Or he spend a groat. 



THERE WAS A BONNY LASS. 197 

Dusty was the coat, 

Dusty was the color, 
Dusty was the kiss 

That I got frae the miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller, 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Fills the dusty peck, 

Brings the dusty siller ; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 



THERE WAS A BONNY LASS. 

There was a bonny lass, and a bonny, bonny lass, 
And she lo'ed her bonny laddie dear ; 

Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms, 
Wi' mony a sigh and tear. 

Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar, 

He still was a stranger to fear : 
And nocht could him quell, or his bosom assail. 

But the bonny lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



O LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASS. 

CHORUS. 

O lay thy loof in mine, lass. 

In mine, lass, in mine, lass. 
And swear in the white hand, lass. 

That thou wilt be my ain. 



198 ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. 

A SLAVE to love''s unbounded sway, 
He aft has wrought me meikle wae ; 
But now he is my deadly fae, 
Unless thou be my ain. 
O lay thy loof, etc. 

There's mony a lass has broke my rest, 
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best ; 
But thou art Queen within my breast, 
Forever to remain. 

O lay thy loof, etc. 



ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day. 

For summer lightly drest, 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay, 

With love and sleep opprest ; 

When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood, 
Who for her favor oft had sued ; 

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
And trembled where he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd, 

Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd, 

It richer dy'd the rose. 

The springing lilies sweetly prest. 
Wild-wanton kiss'd her rival breast ; 

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
His bosom ill at rest. 



YOUNG PEGGY. 199 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze, 

Her tender limbs embrace ! 
Her lovely form, her native ease, 

All harmony and grace ! 

Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 

A faltering ardent kiss he stole ; 
He gaz'd, he wished, he fear'd, he blush'd, 

And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brake 

On fear-inspired wings ; 
So Nelly, starting, half awake, 

Away affrighted springs : 

But Willie followed — as he should, 

He overtook her in the wood : 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 

Forgiving all, and good. 



YOUNG PEGGY. 

Tune — "Last time I cayn o'er the muirJ'^ 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 

Her blush is like the morning. 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass. 

With early gems adorning : 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower. 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams, 

And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 



200 YOUNG PEGGY. 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has grac'd them ; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them : 
Her smile is as the evening mild, 

When feather'd pairs are courting, 
And little lambkins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 



Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her. 
As blooming Spring unbends the brow 

Of surly, savage Winter. 
Distraction's eye no aim can gain 

Her winning powers to lessen ; 
And fretful Envy grins in vain, 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 



Ye Pow'rs of Honor, Love, and Truth, 

From ev'ry ill defend her ; 
Inspire the highly favor'd youth 

The destinies intend her ; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 



THE BONNY BLINK O' MARY'S EE. 201 

THE BONNY BLINK O^ MARY'S EE.i 

Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green, 

An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring, 
By Girvan's fairy haunted stream 

The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's. 

There wi' my Mary let me flee, 
There catch her ilka glance o' love, 

The bonny blink o' Mary's ee ! 

The chield wha boasts o' warld's wealth, 

Is aften laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary, she is a' my ain, 

Ah, fortune canna gieme mair! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks 

Wi' her the lassie dear to me, 
And catch her ilka glance o' love, 

The bonny blink o' Mary's ee ! 



OUT OVER THE FORTH. 

Out over the Forth I look to the north, 

But what is the north and its Highlands to me? 

The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea. 

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest. 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 

^ This song, generally attributed to Burns, is said to have been 
written by Richard Gall, who died in Edinburgh in 1801, aged 25. 



202 THE PLOUGHMAN. 

THE PLOUGHMAN. 

Tune — " Up wi'' the Ploicghynan.'''' 

The ploughman he's a bonny lad, 

His mind is ever true, jo. 
His garters knit below his knee, 

His bonnet it is blue, jo. 

CHORUS 

Then up wi't a\ my ploughman lad, 
And hey, my merry ploughman ; 

Of a' the trades that I do ken. 
Commend me to the ploughman. 

My ploughman he comes hame at e''en, 
He's aften wat and weary : 

Cast off the wat, put on the dry. 
And gae to bed, my Dearie ! 
Up wi't a', etc. 

I will wash my ploughman's hose, 
And I will dress his overlay ; 

I will mak my ploughman's bed. 
And cheer him late and early. 
Up wi't a\ etc. 

I hae been east, I hae been west, 
I hae been at Saint Johnston, 

The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 
Was the ploughman laddie dancin. 
Up wi't a', etc. 




The ploughman he's a bonny lad. 



O MAY, THY MORN. 203 

Snaw-white stockins on his legs, 

And siller buckles glancin^ ; 
A gude blue bannet on his head, 

And O, but he was handsome ! 
Up wi't a\ etc. 

Commend me to the barn-yard, 

And the corn-mou"', man ; 
I never gat my coggie fou 

Till I met wi" the ploughman. 
Up wi't a\ etc. 



O MAY, THY MORN. 

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 
As the mirk night o' December ; 

For sparkling was the rosy wine, 
And private was the chamber : 

And dear was she I dare na name. 
But I will aye remember. 
And dear, etc. 

And here's to them, that, like oursel. 

Can push about the jorum. 
And here's to them that wish us well, 

May a' that's guid watch o'er them ; 
And here's to them we dare na tell, 

The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to, etc. 



2 04 THE BANKS OF NITH. 



BONNY BELL. 

The smiling spring comes in rejoicing, 

And surly winter grimly flies : 
Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 

And bonny blue are the sunny skies ; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, 

The evening gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning, 

And I rejoice in my bonny Bell. 

The flowery spring leads sunny summer, 

And yellow autumn presses near, 
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter, 

Till smiling spring again appear. 
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Old Time and Nature their changes tell, 
But never ranging, still unchanging, 

I adore my bonny Bell. 



THE BANKS OF NITH. 

Tune — " Robie Donna Gorach^ 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flows the Nith to me. 

Where Cummins ance had high command 
When shall I see that honord land. 

That winding stream I love so dear ! 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here ? 



O BONNY WAS YON ROSY BRIER. 205 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gayly bloom ; 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom ! 
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonny banks and braes, 
May there my latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days ! 



O BONNY WAS YON ROSY BRIER. 

Tune — " / wish my love was in a mire^ 

O BONNY was yon rosy brier. 

That blooms sae fair frae haunt o' man ; 
And bonny she, and ah, how dear ! 

It shaded frae the e'enin sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 
How pure amang the leaves sae green ; 

But purer was the lover's vow 

They witnessed in their shade yestreen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower. 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair ! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I, the world, nor wish, nor scorn, 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



2o6 THE BONNY WEE THING. 

THE BONNY WEE THING. 

Tune — " The Lads of Saltcoats.'''' 

Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine. 

Wishfully I look and languish, 
In that bonny face o' thine ; 

And my heart it stounds wi' anguish. 
Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty. 
In ae constellation shine ; 

To adore thee is my duty, 
Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonny wee, etc. 



LASSIE Wr THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. 

Tune — " Rothieiimrche s Rant^ 
CHORUS. 

Lassie wi"* the lint-white locks, 

Bonny lassie, artless lassie. 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks? 

Wilt thou be my dearie O } 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee ; 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, 
And say thou'll be my dearie O? 
Lassie wi', etc. 



TO A LADY. 207 

And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has cheered ilk drooping little flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi', etc. 

When Cynthia lights,' wi^ silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way, 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi', etc. 

And when the howHng wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
ril comfort thee, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi', etc. 



TO A LADY, 

WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINKING GLASSES. 

Fair Empress of the Poet's soul. 

And Queen of Poetesses ; 
Clarinda, take this little boon. 

This humble pair of glasses. 

And fill them high with generous juice. 

As generous as your mind ; 
And pledge me in the generous toast — 

" The whole of human kind ! " 

'* To those who love us ! " — second fill ; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us ! 

A third — " to thee and me. Love ! " 



2o8 AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER. 

Long may we live ! long may we love, 

And long may we be happy ! 
And may we never want a glass 

Well charged with generous nappy ! 



LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD 
DAER. 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, 
Sae far I sprachled up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 



I've been at druken writers' feasts. 
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 

Wi' rev'rence be it spoken ; 
I've even join'd the honor'd jorum, 
When mighty Squireships of the quorum 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 



But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin ; 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son. 

Up higher yet, my bonnet ! 
And sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a', 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 



AlSr INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER. 209 

But, O for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r, 

And how he star'd and stammer'd, 
When goavin, as if led wi' branks, 
An' stumpin on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlor hammered. 

I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
An' at his Lordship steal't a look, 

Like some portentous omen ; 
Except good sense and social glee, 
An' (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon, 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, na pride had he. 
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his lordship I shall learn. 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel's another ; 
Nae honest worthy man need care 
To meet with noble youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



2IO TO A HAGGIS. 



TO A HAGGIS. 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, orthairm: 
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdles like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o'' need, 
While thro"' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 



His knife see rustic labor dight. 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight. 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive. 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 
Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, 
Bethankit hums. 



TO A HAGGIS. 21 1 

Is there that o'er his French ragout, 
Or oho that wad staw a sow. 
Or fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner, 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner? 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 

As feckless as a withered rash, 

His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, 

His nieve a nit : 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed. 

The trembling earth resounds his tread. 

Clap in his walie nieve a blade. 

He'll mak it whissle ; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned. 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae stinking ware 

That jaups in luggies ; 
But, if you want her gratefu' prayer, 

Gie her a Haggis ! 



212 ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE. 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY 

ME, 

WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 

[April, 1789.] 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barbarous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 



Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field. 

The bitter little that of life remains ; 

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 



Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 



Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
ril miss thee sporting o''er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and morn thy hapless 
fate. 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU. 213 



WHISTLE, AND PLL COME TO YOU, MY 
LAD. 

Tune — *' iJ^y<?, Ja^iet.'" 

O WHISTLE, and Til come to you, my lad ; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 

But warily tent, when ye come to court me, 
And come na unless the black-yett be a-jee ; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see. 
And come as ye were na comin to me. • 
And come, etc, 

O whistle, etc. 



At kirk, or at market, when'er ye meet me. 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie : 
But steal me a blink o' your bonny black ee, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me. 
Yet look, etc. 

O whistle, cte. 



Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me. 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; 
But court na anither, tho' jokin ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
For fear, etc. 

O whistle, etc. 



214 POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. 



POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

Hail, Poesie ! thou Nymph reserved ! 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerved 
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 
'Mang heaps o" clavers ; 
And och ! ower aft thy joes hae starved, 
'Mid a' thy favors ! 



Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 
While loud the trump's heroic clang, 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 

But wi' miscarriaofe ? 



In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives ; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
Squire Pope that busks his skinklin patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 



POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. 215 

In this braw age o' wit and lear, 

Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 

Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan — 
There's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan ! 
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tantallan, 

But thou's forever ! 

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, 

In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines, 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
Where bonny lasses bleach their claes ; 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray, 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel' ; 

Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 

Nae snap conceits ; but that sweet spell 

O' witchin' love ; 
That charm that can the strongest quell, 

The sternest move. 



2i6 SWEET FA'S THE EVE. 



SWEET FA'S THE EVE. 

Tune — " Craigieburn-wood.'^ 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 
And blythe awakes the morrow, 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing ; 

But what a weary wight can please. 
And care his bosom wringing? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 
Yet dare na for your anger ; 

But secret love will break my heart, 
If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me. 

If thou shalt love anither. 
When yon green leaves fa' frae the tree. 

Around my grave they'll wither. 



O, FOR ANE AND TWENTY, TAM! 

Tune — " The Moiidiewort.'''' 
CHORUS. 

An' O for ane and twenty, Tam ! 

An hey, sweet ane and twenty, Tam ! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang, 

An I saw ane and twenty, Tam. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 217 

They snool me sair, and haud me down, 
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ! 

But three short years will soon wheel roun', 
And then comes ane and twenty, Tam. 
An" O for ane, etc. 



A gleib o' lan\ a claut o' gear. 
Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 

At kith or kin I need na spier. 
An I saw ane and twenty, Tam. 
An' O for ane, etc. 



They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, 
Tho' I myseP hae plenty, Tam ; 

But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof, 
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam ! 
An' O for ane, etc. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs. 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly scatter'd flow'rs. 

As on the banks -of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



2i8 ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy Trade his labors plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendor rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies. 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There Learning with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarged, their liberal mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail. 

Or modest merit's silent claim : 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, 

Gay as the gilded summer sky. 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye. 

Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
I see the Sire of Love on high. 

And own his work indeed divine ! 



There watching high the least alarms. 
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar^ 

Like some bold vefran, gray in arms. 
And mark'd with many a seamy scar : 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 219 

The ponderous wall and massy bar, 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, 
Have oft withstood assailing war, 

And oft repeird th' invader's shock. 



With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome. 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : 
Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! 

Tho' rigid law cries out, 't was just ! 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore. 

Haply my sires have left their shed. 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar. 

Bold-following where your fathers led ! 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs. 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



2 20 WRITTEN IN 



WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, 

ON NITH-SIDE. 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour. 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 

As Youth and Love, with sprightly dance, 
Beneath thy morning star advance. 
Pleasure with her syren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup. 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale? 
Check thy climbing step, elate. 
Evils lurk in felon wait : 
Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold. 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
While cheerful Peace, with linnet song, 
Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease. 
Seek the chimney-nook of ease. 



FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE. 2: 

There ruminate with sober thought. 

On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought ; 

And teach the sportive younkers round, 

Saws of experience, sage and sound. 

Say, man's true, genuine estimate, 

The grand criterion of his fate, 

Is not — art thou high or low? 

Did thy fortune ebb or flow? 

Did many talents gild thy span? 

Or frugal Nature grudge thee one ? 

Tell them, and press it on their mind, 

As thou thyself must shortly find. 

The smile or frown of awful Heav'n 

To Virtue or to Vice is giv'n. 

Say, to be just, and kind, and wise, 

There solid self-enjoyment lies ; 

That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 

Lead to be wretched, vile, and base. 

Thus resigned and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break, 
Till future life, future no more, 
To light and joy the good restore. 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
Quod the Beadsman of Nith-side. 



22 2 A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 

O THOU, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want ! 
We bless thee, God of Nature wide, 

For all thy goodness lent : 
And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guide, 

May never worse be sent ; 
But whether granted, or denied. 

Lord, bless us with content ! 

Amen! 



ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL 

IN LOCH-TURIT, A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS 
OF OCHTERTYRE. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties? — 
Common friend to you and me. 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 



ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL. 223 

Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
Man, your proud, usurping foe. 
Would be lord of all below ; 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride. 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow. 
Marking you his prey below. 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong Necessity compels. 
But Man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains. 
Only known to wandering swains. 
Where the mossy riv'let strays. 
Far from human haunts and ways ; 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his powYs you scorn ; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave. 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



224 THERE WAS A LASS. 

THERE WAS A LASS. 

Tune — " Bonny Jean.^' 

There was a lass, and she was fair. 
At kirk and market to be seen, 

When a' the fairest maids were met, 
The fairest maid was bonny Jean. 

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark. 
And ay she sang sae merrily : 

The blythest bird upon the bush 
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 
And love will break the soundest rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi*" Jeanie to the tryste. 
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down; 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. 

As in the bosom o' the stream 

The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en ; 

So trembling, pure, was tender love, 
Within the breast o' bonny Jean. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 225 

And now she works her mammie's wark, 
And aye she sighs wr care and pain ; 

Ye wistna what her ail might be, 
Or what wad make her weel again. 

But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, 

And didna joy blink in her ee, 
As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 

Ae e'enin on the lily lea? 

The sun was sinking in the west, 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 

His cheek to hers he fondly prest. 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 

O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? 



At barn or byre thou shaltna drudge, 
Or naething else to trouble thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells. 
And tent the wavins: corn wf me. 



Now v/hat could artless Jeanie do? 

She had nae will to say him na : 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And love was ay between them twa. 



2 26 THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 

CHORUS. 

Bonny lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonny lassie, will ye go to the Birks of Aberfeldy .'^ 

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays. 
Come let us spend the lightsome days 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonny lassie, etc. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 

The little birdies blythely sing. 

Or lightly flit on wanton wing 

In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonny lassie, etc. 

The braes ascend like lofty wa's. 
The foaming stream deep roarmg fa's, 
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonny lassie, etc. 

The hoary cliffs are crowned wi' flowers, 
White o'er the Unns the burnie pours, 
And rising, weets wi' misty showers 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonny lassie, etc. 

Let fortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonny lassie, etc. 



COUNTRY LASSIE. 227 

COUNTRY LASSIE. 

Tune — ^^John, come kiss me now.'''' 

In simmer when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; 
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel. 

Says, " I'll be wed, come o't what will ; " 
Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild, 

" O' guid advisement comes nae ill. 

" It's ye hae wooers mony ane, 

And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben : 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonny hen, 

It's plenty beets the luver's fire." 

" For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He lo"es sae weel his craps and kye, 

He has nae luve to spare for me : 
But blythe's the blink o' Robie's ee, 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : 
Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie 
. For Buskie-glen and a' his gear." 

** O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught ! 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; 
But aye fu' han't is fetchin best, 

A hungry care's an unco care : 



228 ADDRESS TO THE WOOD LARK. 

But some will spend, and some will spare, 
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 

Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair. 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill." 

*' O, gear will buy me rigs o' land. 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome luve 

The gowd and siller canna buy : 
We may be poor — Robie and I, 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve brings peace and joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a throne? " 



ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. 

Tune — " Where' II bontiy Ann lie.'''' 

O STAY, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray, 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part. 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind. 
And heard thee as the careless wind? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd 
Sic notes o' wae could wauken. 



JVOIV WESTLIN WINDS. 229 

Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair ; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair ! 
Or my poor heart is broken ! 



NOW WESTLIN WINDS AND SLAUGHT 
RING GUNS. 



Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night 

To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock loves the lonely dells ; 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves, 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender ; 
Some social join, and leagues combine ; 

Some solitary wander ; 



230 JVOIV WESTLIN WINDS. 

Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, 



But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear. 

Thick flies the skimming swallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view. 

All fading-green and yellow : 
Come let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature ; 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And ev'ry happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Not autumn to the farmer. 
So dear can be, as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



VERSES. 231 

VERSES 

ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS 
THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE ANTIQUI- 
TIES OF THAT KINGDOM. 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's, 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it ; 
A chiePs amang you takin' notes. 

And, faith, he'll prent it ! 

If in your bounds you chance to light 

Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 

O' stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark weel — 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel. 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin. 

Or kirk deserted by its riggin. 

It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's ! colleaguin 

At some black art. 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer. 

Ye gipsy gang that deal in glamour. 

And you, deep read in hell's black grammar, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight bitches ! 



232 VERSES. 

Ifs told he was a sodger bred, 
And ane would rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And ta'en — the antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a louth o*' auld nick-xiackets, 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets, 
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets 

A towmon guid ; 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, 

Afore the flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld Tubal Cain's fire-shool and fender ; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broomstick o' the witch o' Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye he'll shape you aff", fu' gleg, 
The cut of Adam's philibeg : 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully, 
It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Or lang-kail gullie. — 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he. 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid fellows wi' him ; 
And port, O port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye'll see him ! 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 233 

Now, by the powers o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose! — 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca"' thee ; 
rd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee ! 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 

OCHILTRE. 

May, 1785. 

I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie, 
Though I maun say't, I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain. 
Should I believe, my coaxin' billie, 

Your flatterin' strain. 

But Fse believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith, to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
Though in sic phrasin' terms yeVe penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer chiel, 

A deathless name. 



234 EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 

(O Fergusson, thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry musty arts ! 

My curse upon- your whunstane hearts, 

Ye E'nbrugh gentry ! 
The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 

As whiles they're like to be my dead, 

(O sad disease!) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain. 
She's gotten poets o' her ain, 
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae poet thought her worth his while. 
To set her name in measured style ; 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle 
Beside New Holland, 
Or where wild-meeting oceans boil 
Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay and famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to mony a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings. 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Naebody sings. 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 235 

Th' missus, Tiber, Thames, an'' Seine, 
Glide sweet in mony a timefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine. 

And cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells. 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather-bells, 
Her banks and braes, her dens and dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bare the gree, as story tells, 

Frae southron billies. 

At Wallace' name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side. 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod. 

Or glorious died. 

O, sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods. 
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin' hares, in amorous whids. 

Their love enjoy, 
While through the braes the cushat croods 

With wailfu' cry ! 

Even winter bleak has charms to me. 
When winds rave through the naked tree : 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray : 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Darkening the day I 



236 EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 

O Nature ! a"* thy shows and forms, 
To feehng, pensive hearts hae charms ! 
Whether the summer kindly warms 

Wi' Hfe an' hght, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night ! 

The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, 
Till by himself he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

And no think lang ; 
Oh, sweet to stray, and pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The war'ly race may drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch, an' strive — 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure. 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing brither!" 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither. 

In love fraternal ; 
May Envy wallop in a tether 

Black fiend, infernal ! 

While Highlandmen hate tolls and taxes ; 
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies, 
While terra finna on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice. 

In Robert Burns. 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 237 
POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen : 

I hade amaist forgotten clean 

Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this New Light, 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but callans 

At grammar, logic, an' sic talents, 

They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie. 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid lallanSj 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the moon, 
Just like a sark, or pair of shoon. 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon 

Gaed past their viewin, 
An' shortly after she was done. 

They gat a new one. 

This pass'd for certain — undisputed : 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrang : 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud and lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk ; 
For 't was the auld moon turn'd a neuk. 

An' out o' sight. 
An' backlins-comin', to the leuk 

She grew mair bright. 



238 EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 

This was denied — it was affirmM ; 
The herd an' hissels were alarm'd ; 
The reverend gray-beards raved an' storm'd 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were informed 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks ; 
An' mony a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt : 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks. 

Were hanged an' brunt. 

This game was played in mony lands, 
An' Auld-Light caddies bure sic hands 
That, faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But New-Light herds gat sic a cowe. 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick an' stowe. 
Till now amaist on every knowe 

Ye'll find ane placed ; 
An' some their New-Light fair avow. 

Just quite barefaced. 

Nae doubt the Auld-Light flocks are bleatin' ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin' ; 
Myself, I've even seen them greetin' 

Wi' girnin' spite. 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on, 

By word and write. 



VERSES. 239 

But shortly they will cowe the loons! 
Some Auld-Light herds in neibor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons, 

To take a flight, 
An^ stay ae month amang the moons. 

An' see them right- 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 

An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them. 

The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the New-Light billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 

Is naething but a "moonshine matter;" 

But though dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope we bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 



VERSES 



ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR 
DRUMLANRIG. 

As on the banks o' wandering Nith 

Ae smiling simmer morn I stray'd. 
And traced its bonny howes and haughs. 

Where Unties sang and lambkins play'd, 
I sat me down upon a craig, 

And drank my fill o' fancy's dream. 
When, from the eddying deep below, 

Uprose the genius of the stream. 



240 VERSES. 

Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow. 

And troubled like his wintry wave, 
And deep, as sughs the boding wind 

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave : — 
"And came ye here, my son," he cried, 

" To wander in my birken shade? 
To muse some favorite Scottish theme, 

Or sing some favorite Scottish maid ! 

" There was a time, it's nae lang syne, 

Ye might hae seen me in my pride, 
When a' my banks sae bravely saw 

Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
When hanging beech and spreading elm 

Shaded my stream sae clear and cool ; 
And stately oaks their twisted arms 

Threw broad and dark across the pool ; 

*' When glinting through the trees appear'd 

The wee white cot aboon the mill. 
And peacefu' rose its ingle reek. 

That slowly curling clamb the hill. 
But now the cot is bare and cauld. 

Its branchy shelter's lost and gane, 
And scarce a stinted birk is left 

To shiver in the blast its lane." 

" Alas! " said I, " what ruefu' chance 
Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees.'' 

Has laid your rocky bosom bare? 

Has stripped the cleading o' your braes? 



THE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER, 241 

Was it the bitter eastern blast, 

That scatters blight in early spring? 

Or was 't the wiPfire scorch'd their boughs, 
Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ? " 

'* Nae eastlin blast," the sprite replied ; 

" It blew na here sae fierce and fell ; 
And on my dry and halesome banks 

Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell : 
Man ! cruel man ! " the genius sigh'd — 

As through the cliffs he sank him down — 
*' The worm that gnawM my bonny trees, 

That reptile wears a ducal crown ! " 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR 
WATER. 

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

My lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Emboldened thus, I beg youll hear 

Your humble slave complain. 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer pride, 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumpin' glowrin' trouts. 

That through my waters play. 
If, in their random, wanton spouts. 

They near the margin stray ; 



242 THE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. 

If, hapless chance ! they Hnger lang^ 

Fm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left, the whitening stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry ; 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween. 

Even as I was he shor'd me ; 
But had I in my glory been. 

He, kneeUng, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength 1 rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn. 
Enjoying large each spring and well, 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, although I say't mysel, 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would, then, my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes. 
He'll shade my banks wi' towering trees. 

And bonny spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly, then, my lord. 

You'll wander on my banks, 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 



THE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. 243 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, Music^s gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir ; 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow. 

This, too, a covert shall insure. 

To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward maukin sleep secure 

Low in her grassy form ; 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flowers ; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat 

From prone descending showers. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth. 

Shall meet the loving pair. 
Despising worlds with all their wealth. 

As empty idle care. 
The flowers shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heaven to grace. 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply, too, at vernal dawn. 

Some musing bard may stray. 
And eye the smoking dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain gray. 



244 THE DEATH OF POOR MAILIE. 

Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 
Mild-chequering through the trees, 

Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, 
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks overspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool. 

Their shadows' watery bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest. 

The close-embowering thorn. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope. 

Your little angel band. 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honor'd native land ! 
So may through Albion's furthest ken. 

To social-flowing glasses. 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men. 

And Athole's bonny lasses ! " 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF 
POOR MAILIE, 

THE author's only PET YOWE. 

(^An Unco Moiiriifii' Tale.') 
As Mailie an' her lambs thegither 
Was ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch. 
And owre she warsled in the ditch ; 



THE DEATH OF POOR MAILIE. 245 

There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc ^ he cam doytin^ by, 
Wi"" glowing een, and lifted han's. 
Poor Hughoc like a statue stands ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
But, w^aes my heart ! he couldna mend it ! 
He gap^d wide, but naething spak — 
At length poor Mailie silence brak : — 

" O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my wofu'' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
An^ bear them to my master dear. 

Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
Oh, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca' them out to park or hill. 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' ! 

Tell him he was a master kin'. 
An' aye was guid to me an' mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him — 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 

Oh, bid him save their harmless lives 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butcher's knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill. 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn 
Wi' taets o' hay, an' ripps o' corn. 

An' may they never learn the gaets 

1 A neibor herd-callan. — R. B. 



246 777^ DEATH OF POOR MAILIE. 

Of ither vile, wanrestfif pets ! 

To slink through slaps, an' reave an' steal 

At stacks o' peas or stocks o' kail. 

So may they, like their great forbears. 

For mony a year come through the shears ; 

So wives will gie them bits o' bread, 

An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 

My poor toop-lamb, my son and heir, 
Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
An' if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
An' no to rin an' wear his clouts, 
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 

An' neist my yowie, silly thing, 
Guid keep thee frae a tether string ! 
Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorlan' toop, 
But aye keep mind to moop an' mell, 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

An' now, my bairns, wi' my last breath 
I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your mither, 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An' for thy pains, thou's get my blether." 

This said, poor Mailie turned her head, 
And closed her een amang the dead. 



POOR MA /LIE'S ELEGY. 247 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose : 
Our bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a' remead ; 
The last sad cape-stane of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie's dead ! 



It's no the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed ; 
He's lost a friend and neibor dear 

In Mailie dead. 



Through a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faith fu' ne'er cam nigh him 

Than Mailie dead. 



I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense : 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence 

Through thievish greed. 
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 

Sin' Mailie's dead. 



248 POOR MAI LIE'S ELEGY. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 

Her living image in her yowe 

Comes bleating till him, owre the knowe, 

For bits o' bread ; 
An** down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorlan' tips, 

Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips ; 

For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frae yont the Tweed : 
A bonnier fleesh ne'er crossed the clips 

Than Mailie dead. 



Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing — a raep ! 
It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, 

Wi' chokin' dread ; 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape. 

For Maihe dead. 



Oh, a' ye bards on bonny Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon 

O' Robin's reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon ! 

His Mailie's dead ! 



HOW DREARY IS THE NIGHT! 249 
HOW LONG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT! 

To a Gaelic Air. 

How lang and dreary is the night, 

When I am frae my dearie ! 
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Though I were ne'er sae weary. 
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Though I were ne'er sae weary. 

When I think on the happy days 

I spent wr you, my dearie. 
And now what lands between us lie, 

How can I be but eerie ? 
And now what lands between us lie, 

How can I be but eerie ? 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye were wae and weary ! 
It wasna sae ye glinted by 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
It wasna sae ye glinted by 

When I was wi' my dearie. 



THE WINTER OF LIFE. 

Tune — " TJte Death of the Linnet.''^ 

But lately seen in gladsome green, 

The woods rejoiced the day ; 
Through gentle showers the laughing flowers 

In double pride were gay : 



250 CONTENTED IVP LITTLE. 

But now our joys are fled 

On winter blasts awa' ! 
Yet maiden May in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a\ 

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe, 

Shall melt the snaws of Age ; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or beild 

Sinks in Time's wintry rage. 
Oh ! age has weary days, 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 

Why comes thou not again ! 



CONTENTED WP LITTLE. 

Tune — " L^anps o' Pudding.'''' 

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair. 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin' alang, 
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 

I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught ; 
My mirth and guid humor are coin in my pouch, 
And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare 
touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A night o' guid-fellowship sowthers it a' ; 
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? 



WANDERING WILLIE. 251 

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way ; 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae ; 
Come ease or come travail ; come pleasure or pain ; 
My warst ward is — " Welcome, and welcome again ! " 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa, there awa, hand awa hame ; 

Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie. 

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 

Winter winds blew, loud and cauld, at our parting. 

Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee ; 
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie — 

The simmer to nature, my Wilhe to me. 



Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers ; 

How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye billows ! 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms ! 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, 
Flow still between us thou wide roaring main ! 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. 



252 MV NANNIE'S AW A' 

MY NANNIE^S AWA\ 

Tune — " There'll never be peace.'''' 

Now in her green mantle blithe nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa' ! 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nannie — and Nannie's awa' ! 

Thou laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the gray breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', 
Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa' ! 

Come, Autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray, 
And soothe me with tidings o' Nature's decay : 
The dark dreary winter, and wild driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa' ! 



O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET? 

Tune — " Let me in this ae night.''^ 

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet. 
Or art thou waking, I would wit ? 
For love has bound me hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 



O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET? 253 

Oh, let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
For pity's sake this ae night, 

Oh, rise and let me in, jo ! 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks through the driving sleet : 
Tak pity on my weary feet. 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
Oh, let me in, etc. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws, 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's : 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
Oh, let me in, etc. 

HER ANSWER. 

Oh, tell na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ! 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
I winna let ye in, jo. 

I tell you now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night ; 
And ance for a', this ae night, 

I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest blast at mirkest hours. 
That round the pathless wanderer pours, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you now, etc. 



2 54 WOMEN'S MINDS. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed ; 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you now, etc. 

The bird that charm'd his summer day 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
I tell you now, etc. 



WOMEN'S MINDS. 

Tune— "T^^rrt' that:' 

Tho' women's minds, like winter winds, 
May shift and turn and a' that. 

The noblest breast adores them maist, 
A consequence I draw that. 

For a' that, and a' that. 

And twice as muckle's a' that. 

The bonny lass that I lo'e best 
She'll be my ain for a' that. 

Great love I bear to all the fair, 
Their humble slave, and a' that ; 

But lordly will, I hold it still, 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 
For 2i that, etc. 



THE CARDIN' O'T. 255 

But there is ane aboon the lave, 

Has wit, and sense, and a' that ; 
A bonny lass, I like her best. 

And wha a crime dare ca' that ? 
For a' that, etc. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 

Wi' mutual love, and a' that : 
But for how lang the flee may stang, 

Let inclination law that. 
For a' that, etc. 

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, 

They've ta'en me in, an a' that ; 
But clear your decks, and here's " the Sex!" 

I like the jades for a' that. 
For a' that, etc. 



THE CARDIN' OT. 

Tune — ''Salt-fish and Dzi^nplings.'''' 

I COFT a stane o' haslock woo\ 
To mak a wat to Johnny o't ; 

For Johnny is my only jo, 
I lo'e him best of ony yet. 

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't ; 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 

The tailor staw the linin' o't. 



256 SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME. 

For though his locks be lyart gray, 
And though his brow be beld aboon ; 

Yet I hae seen him on a day 
The pride of a' the parishen. 

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't ; 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 

The tailor staw the linin' o't. 



SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME. 

Tune — "^^/^ IVaukin, O." 

Simmer's a pleasant time. 

Flowers of every color ; 
The water rins o'er the heugh, 

And I long for my true lover. 

Aye waukin, O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

When I sleep I dream, 

When I wauk I'm eerie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Aye waukin, O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 
. For thinking on my dearie. 



BR AW LADS OF GALL A WATER. 257 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave are sleepin' ; 
I think on my bonny lad, 

And I bleer my een with greetin'. 

Aye waukin, O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 



BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER. 

Tune — "Galla Water.'''' 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

Oh, braw lads of Galla Water : 
ril kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the water. 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie; 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou\ 
The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 
O'er yon moss amang the heather ; 

I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. 

And follow my love through the water. 

Down amang the broom, the broom, 
Down amang the broom, my dearie, 

The lassie lost her silken snood. 

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary. 



258 GALL A WATER. 



GALLA WATER. 

Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 

That wander through the blooming heather, 

But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws 
Can match the lads o' Galla Water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 

And ril be his, and he'll be mine, 
The bonny lad o' Galla Water. 

Although his daddie was nae laird, 
And though I haena meikle tocher ; 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love. 
We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth. 
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love. 
Oh, that's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen. 
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men ; 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine. 
And ae bonny lassie, his darling and mine. 



BLYTHE WAS SHE. 259 

She's fresh as the morning the fairest in May ; 
She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay ; 
As blythe and as artless as lambs on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my ee. 

But oh! she's an heiress — auld Robin's a laird, 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard ; 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed ; 
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; 
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 

Oh, had she but been of a lower degree, 
I then might hae hoped she'd hae smiled upon me ! 
Oh, how past descriving had then been my bliss, 
As now my distraction no words can express ! 



BLYTHE WAS SHE. 

Tune. — " Andro and his Czittie Guny 

Blythe, blythe, and merry was she, 
Blythe was she butt and ben : 

Blythe by the banks of Ern, 
And blythe in Glenturit glen. 

By Auchtertyre grows the aik, 

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw ; 

But Phemie was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blythe, etc. 



26o WILLIE BREWD A PECK O' MAUT. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blythe, etc. 

Her bonny face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lea ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet, 

As was the blink o' Phemie's ee. 
Blythe, etc. 

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide. 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blythest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blythe, etc. 



O, WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT. 

Tune — " Willie brew" d a peck o' mauty 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 
And Rob and Allan came to pree ; 

Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, 
Ye wadna find in Christendie. 

Chorus : We are na fou, we're na that fou, 
But just a drappie in our ee ; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 



BESS AND HER SPINNIN-WHEEL. 261 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 

And mony a night we've merry been, 
And mony mae we hope to be ! 
We are na fou, etc. 

It is the moon — I ken her horn, 
Thafs bhnkin in the Hft sae hie ; 

She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee ! 
We are na fou, etc. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa' 

A cuckold, coward loun is he! 
Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 

He is the king amang us three ! 
We are na fou, etc. 



BESS AND HER SPINNIN-WHEEL 

Tune — '^Bottom o' the Punch-bowl.'''' 

O, leeze me on my spinnin-wheel, 
And leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien. 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! 
I'll set me down and sing and spin. 
While laigh descends the simmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
Oh, leeze me on my spinnin-wheel ! 

On ilka hand the burnies trot. 
And meet below my theekit cot; 



262 FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 

The scented birk and hawthorn white, 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
AHke to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes' caller rest ; 
The sun blinks kindly in the beil, 
Where blythe I turn my spinnin-wheel. 

On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes. 
Delighted, rival ither's lays ; 
The craik amang the clover hay. 
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel. 
Amuse me at my spinnin-wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
Oh, wha wad leave this humble state. 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
Amid their flaring, idle toys. 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel? 



FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 

Tune — " The Highland Watch's Farewell.'' 

My heart is sair — I dare na tell — 
My heart is sair for Somebody ; 

I could wake a winter night 
For the sake o' Somebody. 



THE LOVELY LASS OF LNVERNESS. 263 

Oh-hon ! for Somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for Somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o' Somebody ! 

Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love, 

Oh, sweetly smile on Somebody ! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my Somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for Somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for Somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' Somebody ! 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 

Tune — " The Lass of htverness.^'' 

The lovely lass of Inverness 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And aye the saut tear blins her ee : 
Drumossie Moor — Drumossie day — 

A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear. 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 
Their graves are growing green to see ; 

And by them lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's ee ! 



264 UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 

For mony a heart thou hast made sair 
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, 

The drift is driving sairly ; 
Sae loud and sferill I hear the blast, 

Fm sure it's winter fairly. 

CHORUS. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 

Fm sure it's winter fairly. 

The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 
A' day they fare but sparely ; 

And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, 
Fm sure it's winter fairly. 

CHORUS. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 



THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 265 
THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 

Tune — " Neil Cow's Lamejit.'''' 

There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity - 
That he frae our lasses should wander awa' ; 
For he's bonny an' braw, weel favor'd witha', 
And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue ; 
His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw : 
His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, 
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin' ; 
Weel-featured, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted, and 

braw ; 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her. 
The penny's the jewel that beautifies a'. 
There's Meg wi' the mailen, that fain wad a haen him ; 
And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha' ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy — 
But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'. 



THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 

Tune — " Com Rigs are Bo7inyy 

It was upon a Lammas night. 
When corn rigs are bonny, 

Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 
I held awa' to Annie : 

The time flew by wi' tentless heed. 
Till, 'tween the late and early. 



266 THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 

Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 
To see me through the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly, 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I kent her heart was a' my ain, 

I loved her most sincerely : 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ! 

Her heart was beating rarely. 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She aye shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear ; 

I hae been merry drinkin' ! 
I hae been joyfu"' gathVin' gear ; 

I hae been happy thinkin'' : 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Though three times doubled fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a\ 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

Corn rigs, and barley rigs, 
And corn rigs are bonny : 

ril ne'er forget that happy night, 
Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 267 
THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

Tune — " Push about the jorum.'''' 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the loons beware, sir ; 
There's wooden walls upon our seas, 

And volunteers on shore, sir. 
The Nith shall rin to Corsincon, 

The Criffel sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 
Fal de ral, etc. 

Oh, let us not, like snarling curs. 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till, slap ! come in an unco loon, 

And wi' a rung decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted ! 
Fal de ral, etc. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state, 

Perhaps a clout may fail in't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca' a nail in't. 
Our father's bluid the kettle bought. 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ? 
By heavens ! the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it ! 

Fal de ral, etc. 



2 68 GROVES OF SWEET MYRTLE. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch, his true-sworn brother, 
Wha would set the mob aboon the throne, 

May they be damn'd together ! 
Wha will not sing " God save the King," 

Shall hang as high's the steeple ; 
But while we sing " God save the King," 

We'll ne'er forget the People. 
Fal de ral, etc. 



GROVES OF SWEET MYRTLE. 

Tune — " Humors of Glen.'''' 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 

Where bright-beaming summers exalt their per- 
fume ; 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom : 
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers. 

Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; 
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 

A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys. 

And cauld, Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
palace, 

What are they ? — The haunt o' the tyrant and slave! 
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains. 

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains. 

Save Love's willing fetters — the chains o' his Jean. 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 269 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 

Tune — " The Lothian Lassie.''^ 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 

I said there was naething I hated like men, 
The deuce gae wi' him, to believe, believe me, 
The deuce gae wi' him, to believe me ! 

He spak o' the darts in my bonny black een, 
And vow'd for my love he was dying, 

I said he might die when he lik^d for Jean, 
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying. 
The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A weel-stock^d mailen — himsel for the laird — 
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers : 

I never loot on that I kenned it, or cared. 

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less — 
The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! 

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could 

bear her, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

But a' the neist week, as I fretted wi' care, 

I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there ! 

I glower'd as Fd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glower'd as Fd seen a warlock. 



270 MEG O' THE MILL. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, 
Lest neebors might say I was saucy. 

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, 
Gin she had recovered her hearin\ 

And how her new shoon fit her auld shachPt feet, 
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearing a swearin' 
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin' ! 

He begged, for guid sake, I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; 

Sae e'en to preserve the poor body his life, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

Air — '^Jackie Hjime's La7ne7it.''^ 

O, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? 
And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller. 
And broken the heart o' the barley miller. 

The miller was strappin', the miller was ruddy ; 
A heart like a Lord, and a hue like a lady. 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl ; 
She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl. 



OH, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL. 271 

The miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving; 
The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, 
A fine-pacing horse, vvi' a clear-chained bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonny side-saddle. 

Oh, wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailin ! 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl ! 



O WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL. 

Tune — " /l/y love is lost to Tne" 

were I on Parnassus' hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill 

To sing how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
My Muse maun be thy bonny sel ; 
On Corsincon I glower and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay! 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day 

1 couldna sing, I couldna say. 

How much, how dear, I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een — 

By heaven and earth I love thee ! 



272 ROBIN. 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 

The thoughts o^ thee my breast inflame ; 

And aye I muse and sing thy name — 

I only live to love thee. 
Though I were doomM to wander on 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 

Till then — and then Pd love thee. 



ROBIN. 

Tune — " Daintie Daviey 

There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
But whatna day o' whatna style, 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin\ rantin' rovin' ; 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin! 

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
Was five and twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Jan'war win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 
Robin was, etc. 

The gossip keekit in his loof. 
Quo' she, " wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof — 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 
Robin was, etc. 



ROBIN. 273 

** He'll hae misfortunes great and sma\ 
But aye a heart aboon them a' ; 
He'll be a credit till us a\ 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 
Robin was, etc. 

" But, sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see, by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So leeze me on thee, Robin." 
Robin was, etc. 

" Guid faith," quo' she, " I doubt ye gar 
The bonny lasses lie aspar. 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur, 
So blessings on thee, Robin !" 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin' ; 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin ! 



GLOSSARY. 



Many slight variations in common words are obvious, or ex- 
plained by tlae following suggestions : — 

rt ^= (3, as tald for told, wae for woe, etc. ; ? ^= «, it, as hing for 
liang, simmer for summer; fmal letters are omitted, as win' for 
wind, wi' for with, tak for take, youthfu' for youthful; in and an 
= iitg of present participle; it or et = ed of past participle; i.e., 
common diminutive, as bardie, jauntie, damie, for bard, jaunt, 
dame. 



ABACK, away from . 

Abeigh, ai a distance. 

Aboon, above. 

A bread, abroad, in sight. 

Acquent, acquainted. 

Ae, one, only. 

Afore, before. 

A-gley, off the right hue. 

Aiblins, perhaps. 

Air, early. 

Airn, iron. 

Airt, directio7i, the point froin 

which the wind blows ; hence 

wind. 
Ajee, to the otie side. 
Anither, anotlier. 
Asklent. obliquely, aslant. 
A'thegither, altogether. 
Ava, at all. 
Awa, away. 
Ayont, beyond. 

BACKLINS, backward. 

Backets, buckets. 

Bade, etidured, desired. 

Baggie (dim. of bag), the stom- 
ach. 

Bairn, child. 

Bairntime, a family of chil- 
dren. 

Bang, a stroke. An unco bang, 
a heavy stroke or effort. 

Barmie, of, or like barm. 



Bawk, an open space in a corn' 
field, generally a ridge left un- 
tilled, a thorn-fringed path. 

Baws'nt, havifig a white stripe 
dow?i the face. 

Bawtie, a familiar name for a 
dog. 

Bear, barley. 

Beets, adds fuel to fire. 

Beil, a iinbitatwn. 

Beld, bald. 

Bellum, a noise, an attack. 

]]elyve, by atid by. 

Ben, into the spence or parlor. 

Benmost bore, the imiertnost re- 
cess, or hole. 

Bethaflkit, the grace after meat. 

Beuk, a book. Devil's pictur'd 
beuks, cards. 

Bicker, rt woo deft dish, a few steps 
7(tnvittingly. 

Bield, shelter. 

Big, ^£> build. 

Bi^rg, to build. 

Bigs, builds. 

Bill, a bidl. 

Billie, a good fellow, young fel- 
low. 

Bing, heap of anythifig, siich as 
turnips, potatoes. 

Birk, t/ie birch. 

]iirkie, a spirited fellow. 

Bit, crisis ; sinaU. 



275 



276 



GLOSSARY. 



Bizz, a bustle ; buzz. 

Bizzie, bizzy, busy. 

Blae, blue, sharp, keen. 

Blastie, withered, dwarf. 

Blastit, withered. 

Blate, shamefaced. 

Blaw, to blow, to bra^. 

Bleerit, bleared. 

Bleeze, a blaze. 

Bleezin, blazing. 

Blellum, an idle talking fellow. 

Blether, the bladder, nonsense, 
foolish talk. 

Bleth'rin, talking idly. 

Blink, a blink o' rest, a short 
period of repose, a short time, 
a mometU, a look. 

Blirt and bleary, _/?^j of cryi7ig. 

Bliide, bluid, blood. 

Bliiine, bloom. 

Bl untie, a sniveller, a stitpid per- 
son ■ 

Pnddle, a small coin. 

Botjle, ghost. 

Bonie, bonny, bonnie, beaidifid. 

Boortree, elder bjtsh. 

Bore, a hole or rent. 

Bouse, drink. 

Brae, the slope of a hill. 

Braid, broad. 

Braing't, //7<;;^^. 

Branks, a kind of wooden curb 

for horses. 
Brat, rag. 

Brattle, a short race. 
l>ra\v, hattdsome. 
B raw lie, perfectly. 
Braxie, morkift ; a sheep. * 
Breastit, spring 7ip or forward. 
Br tckan, fern. 
Brceks, breeches. 
Brent, straight, smooth, 7in- 

wrinkled, brand. 
Brisr, bridge. 
Brither, brother. 
Brock, a badger. 
Brogue, a trick. 
Broo, water, broth. 
Brooses, races at co7iniry wed- 
dings who shall first reach the 
bride gr 00771' s house 07i return- 
ing froJ7t church. 
Brose, broth. 
Brugh, Imrgh 
Bruizie, a broil. 



Brunstane, bri77isto7te. 

Brunt, burned. 

Bughtin-time, the time of fold- 

i7ig the sheep in the pe/is. 
B u i rd 1 y , stro7ig, i77iposi7tg- look- 

i7ig, well-k}iit. 
Bum, to /turn, bjizz. 
Bum-clock, a beetle. 
Bur die, da77isel. 
Bure, bore, did bear. 
Burn, strea77i. 
Busk, d7-ess. 
Buss, a b7ish. 
But, without. 

But tan' ben, kitchen and parlor. 
Byke, a 77tultit7ide , a bee-hive. 
Byre, cow house. 

CA', to drive, a call. 

Caddie, a fellow. 

Caff, chaff. 

Call an, boy. 

C:\\\iir, fresh. 

Cannie, careful, soft, dexter- 
ozis. 

Cantie, /w high spirits, cheerful. 

Cantraip, cantrip, a charm, a 
spell. 

Carl-liemp, seed bear itig hemp. 

Carlin, a7i old wo77ia7i. 

Cartes, cards. 

Cauk and keel, chalk and pencil, 

i e., rt clever artist. 
Can id, cold. 
Cr.usey, causetvay. 
Chaimer, chamber. 
Chai)man, a pedlar. 
C h i e 1 , young fellow. 
Chimlie, chi77i7iey. 
Chittering, tr e 771b li7ig with cold. 
Chows, chews. 
Ch ri ste n d ie , Christe7ido77t . 
Claise, claes, clothes. 
Clap, a clapper. 
Clarkit, 7vrote. 
Clash, idle talk; to talk. 
Claught, caught. 
Claut, to S7iatch at, to lay hold of 

a qua7itity, a heap. 
Claver, clover. 
Clavers, idle stories. 
Claw, scratch. 
Cleed, to clothe. 
deeding, clothing. 
Cleek, to seize, link. 



GLOSSARY. 



277 



Clips, shears. 

Clishmachiver, idle conversation. 

Cloot, the hoof. 

Clootie, eloots, Satan. 

Clour, bump, blow. 

Clouts, clothes. 

C\o\\t, to patch ; a patch. 

Clud. rt; clojid. 

Coble, a fishing-boat. 

Cock, to erect. 

Coclis, good fellows. 

Co ft, bought. 

Cog-, a wooden dish. 

Coila, from Kyle, a district of 
Ayrshire, so called, from Coil, 
or Coila, a traditional Pictish 
monarch. 

Col lie, a country dog, shepherd 
dog. 

Compleenin, complaining. 

Contra, coioitry. 

Cood. the cud. 

Cooi, fool, ninny. 

Cookit, that appeared and disap- 
peared by fits. 

Coost, cast. 

Cootie, a wooden kitche^i dish. 

Corbie, cro7U. 

Core, corps, band. 

Cnxn't, fed with oats. 

Counted, considered. 

Countra, country. 

Cour, sink, fail. 

Couthie, kindly, loving. 

Cowe, to terrify, to lap ; a fright. 

Crabbit, crabbed. 

Crack, a story or harangue, talk. 

Crackin, conversing, gossiping. 

Craig, the throat ; crag. 

Craik, latidrail. 

Crankous, irritated. 

Cranreuch, hoar-frost. 

Crap, crop, to crop. 

Craw, crow. 

Creel, a basket; crazed, fascinated. 

Creeshie, greasy. 

Croclis, old sheep. 

Croon, moatt, hum. 

Crouse, gleeful, with spirit. 

Crowl, crawl. 

Cruiiiniock, a staff with a crooked 
head, crutch. 

Crunt, a blow oti the head with a 
cudgel. 

Cuif, blockhead^ nitmy. 



Cum mock, a short staff with a 

crooked head. 
Curch, a cap. 
Cushat, wood-pigeon. 
Cutty, short, bob-tailed. 
Cutty stool, chair of penance. 

DAD, XyKDVUK, father. 

Daffin, tnerriment. 

jy-Ait, foolish. 

Daimen-icker, one ear of corn in 

twenty-four. 
Dang, knocked, pushed. 
Daren a, dare not. 
Daunting ly, dauntlessly. 
Daunton, to s'ubdue. 
Daurk, a day'' s labor. 
Daut, to fondle, to make much of. 
Davie ly, spiritless. 
Davie's, King David'' s. 
Daw, daw7i. 

Dawds, bunps, large pieces. 
Dawin, the daiv7ii7ig. 
Dawte, to fondle, caress, treasure. 
Deave, to deafen. 
j Deil, devil. 
Deil haet, devil a thifig. 
Descrive, to describe. 
Deuk, a duck. 
Dight, cleajied from chaff, to 

wipe. 
Dine, din7ier-time. 
Ding, to surpass, beat, be pushed 

or upset ; a knock. 
Dinner'd, dified. 

Dirl, a vibrati7ig blow ; to vibrate. 
Disagreet, disagreed. 
Dizzen, a doze7i, tack. 
Doited, stupefied. 
Donsie, U7i lucky. 
Dool, so7-row. 
Douce, grave, sober. 
Doup, the backside. 
Dour, doure, stubborn. 
Dow, dowe, do, ca7i. 
Dowf, pithless, silly, weakly. 
Dowie, low-spirited. 
Doylt, stupid. 
Doytin, walki7ig stupidly. 
Dozin, stupefied, impotent. 
Draigle, draggle. 
Drajj, drop, a S77tall quantity. 
Dreigh, tedious. 
Droddum, the breech. 
Drone, the bagpipe. 



278 



GLOSSARY. 



Droop-rnmpl't, that droops at the 

crupper. 
Drouth, thirst. 
Druken, drunken. 
Drumlie. muddy. 
Dub, small pond, puddle. 
Ducat Stream, a ford above the 

A uld Brig. 
Duds, garments. 
Duddie, ragged. 
Duddies, gart7ients. 
Y>\xs\\\., pushed by a ram or ox. 

EARN, eagle. 

Eastlin, eastern. 

Ee, eye, to watch. 

Een, eyes. 

E'enin. evening. 

Eerie, scared, afraid of spirits, 
hau7ited. 

Eild, age, 

'Eldritch, frightfd, elvish. 

Ein'brugh, Enbrugh, Edin- 
burgh. 

Eneugh, enow, enojigh. 

Erse, Gaelic. 

Ettle, design, aim.. 

Expeckit, expected. 

Eydcnt, dUigent. 

YA\fot;fall. 

Fairin, a present, a reward. 

YanA,/ozind. 

Fash, trouble. 

Fash't, troubled. 

Fatt'rels, ribbon-ends. 

Faught, a fight. 

Fauld, a fold. 

Y-A\\?,c, false. 

Y^-u.\., fault. 

Fawsont, seemly. 

Feclit, to fight. 

Feck, the gi-cater portion ,' -work. 

Fecket, an under waistcoat with 

sleeves. 
Feckless , powerless, tvithout pith . 
Ferlie, to wonder ; a term of 

cofttejnpt. 
Fidge, to fidget. 
Fient, a petty oath. The fient a, 

the devil a. bit of. 
Fier, healthy, sound; brother, 

friend. 
Yi^re, friend, comrade. 
Fit, foot. 



Fittie-Ian, the near horse. 

Flaug, pling or caper. 

Fliinnen, ytannel. 

Heech, supplicate. 

Fleesh, ajleece, sheep. 

F'ley, scare. 

F" 1 ichterin' , fluttering. 

P'lingin-tree, a flail. 

¥\\sk,fret. 

Flit, reinove. 

Fodgel, squat or pbimp. 

Foord, a ford. 

¥ orhdcir, forefather. 

Forbye, besides. 

f'orfairn, worn-out, jaded. 

Forgather, to make acquaijitance 

with ; meet. 
Yorrit, forward. 
Fou, fill, tipsy. 
Foughten, troubled. 
Foutli, a7i abunda71.ce. 
¥Y^e,fro7n. 

Freinit, strange, foreign. 
F u r r s , firrows . 

Fvke, to be i7i a fuss about tri- 
fles. 

GAB, the 77zo7dh. 

Gang, to go. 

Gar, to 77iake. 

Gash, sagacious, co7iverse. 

Gate, gaet, i7ia7i7ier, way or road. 

Gaud, the plough shaft. 

Gaun, goi7!g. 

Giwvcie, jolly, large. 

Gear, wealth, goods. Weel- 

hain'd gear, well saved dri7ik. 
Geordie, George. The yellow 

letter'd Geordie, a gui7iea. 
G\rA\-s\., ghost . 
Gie, give. 
(iies, give us. 
Gif, //. 

Giglets, playful children. 
Gin, if 
Gird, to bi7id. 
Gi.n, to gri7t. 
Giz7., a wig. 
Glaiket, tho7ightIess. 
G 1 a i z i e glitte ri7ig. 
Gleg, sharp, clever, swift. 
Gleib, a glebe. 
Glint, gla7ice. 
Gloainin, twilight. 
Glowr', look car7testly, stare. 



GLOSSARY. 



279 



Goav, ^ook, round with a strange 
tjiquiring; gaze, stare stupidly, 

Gos, Jiawky/alcon. 

Gowan, the daisy. 

Gowd, gold. 

Gowdfink, goldfinch. 

Gowk, /ool. 

Grat, wept. 

Grce, a prize, to agree. 

Greet, to weep. 

Grf)zet, a gooseberry 

Gruiistane, a grindstone- 

Grunzie tlie mouth. 

Grushie, thick, of thriving 
growth. 

Grutten, 7vept. 

Gude, the Supreme Being, good. 

Giiid, good. 

Gil I lie, a large knife. 

Gum lie, muddy, discolored. 

M.\\h.ill. 

liae, have ; here (in the sense of 

take) 
Haet, ihe least thing. Deil haet, 

an oath of negation. 
Haftets, the temples. 
^{affet locks, locks at the temples. 
Haffliiis,/;rz'/j'. 
Haggis, a kifid of pudding boiled 

i?i the stomach 0/ a cow or 

sheep. 
Hain, to spare, to save. 
Haitli, a petty oath. 
Hallan, a wall. 

Ilan'daig, Han'daurk, handi- 
work, labor. 
Han't, ha7idjd. 
Hap, to 7vrap. Winter hap, zvin- 

ter clothing. 
Harkit, hearkened. 
W-Mn, yarn. 
liar'st, harvest. 
Has lock, descriptive of the finest 

wool, being the lock tluit grows 

on the hals, or throat. 
Hand, to hold, keep. 
Haugh , low-lying latids, meadow- 
Hauid, hold, home. 
Hanrl, to drag. 
Havins, good manners . 
Hawkie, a cow, properly one 

with a white face. 
Hech, an exclainat'ott of wonder. 
Hech t , foretold, offered. 



Heckle, a board, in which are 
fixed a tiumber of sharp pins, 
used ift dressi?ig hemp, flax, etc. 

Hern, heron. 

Herrynient, plunder ing^ devasta- 
tion. 

Heuirh, a coal pit, a steep. 

Hirp le , walks with difficulty, lijnp. 

Hissel,_//i3c,t. 

Histie, dry, barren. 

Hizzie, young luoman, 

Hoast, a cough. 

Hnddin, the jnotion of a 7nan on 
horseback ; toidyed wool. 

Hog-shouther, a kind of horse- 
play by justling with tlie shoul- 
der. 

Iloolie ! stop I 

Honiie, Satan. 

Yiotch'd, fidgeted. 

Houlet, owl. 

Howe, hollow dell. 

Howe-backit, sunk in the back. 

Ilowk, dig. 

Hoyte, to move clumsily. 

Hu'giioc, Hugh. 

H under, a hundred. 

Hurciieon, a hedgehog. 

Hurdles, hips, buttocks. 

Hurl, to fall down ruinously, to 
ride. 

ICKER, a7i ear of corn. 

\\\<.,each. 

Ilka, eve7y. 

Indentin, indenturing. 

Ingle-cheek, the fireside. 

Ingle-lowe, tJie household fire. 

Ither, other, each other. 

J AD, a jade. 

Jauk, to dally, to trifle. 

J a up, splash. 

Jink, to dodge, run. 

Jo, sweetheart, lozier,frie}id. 

Jocteleg, clasp-knife. 

Jorum, the jug. 

Jouk, to duck, to make obeisance. 

Jundie, to jostle. 

KAIL, broth, cabbage. 
Ka i n . firtn produce paid as rent. 
Kebbuck, a cheese. 
Kebhuck-heel, the remai^tiiig 
portion of a cheese. 



28o 



GLOSSARY. 



Keckle, to cackle, to laugh. 

Keek, peep. 

Keekin'-g-lass, a looking-glass. 

Keepit, kept. 

Kelpie, water- spirit. 

Ken, kfiow. 

Kennin, a tittle bit. 

Kep, to catch a7iything whefi 

falling. 
Ket, ajleece. 
Kilt, to tuck up. 
Kintra, country. 
Kirk, chiirch. 
Kirn, a churn. 
Kittle, to tickle, ticklish. 
Knag-g-ie, knotty. 
Knowe, a hillock. 
Knurl, a churl. 
Knnrlin, a dwarf. 
Kye, coivs. 

Kyle, a district of Ayrshire. 
Kyte, belly. 

LAG, sluggish. 

I.air, lore. 

Laird, lord, landlord. 

Laith, loath. 

Laithfu', bashfd. 

Lallan, lowlajid. 

Laji, leap. 

Lauping, leaping. 

Lave, the rest. 

Lav'rocks, larks. 

Leal, true, loyal. 

I^ear, lore, learning. 

Lea- rig-, a grassy ridge. 

Lee-Ian g, iive-lotig. 

Leesonie, pleasant. 

Leeze me, blessittg, a phrase of 

cotigratulatory endearment, I 

a7)i happy in thee, or proud of 

thee. 
Leak, look, appearance. 
Ley, lea. 
Lien, laifi. 

Lift, heaven ; a large quantity 
Linimer, a kept mistress; a 

strumpet. 
Lin, linn, rt waterfall. 
Lin ket, tripped deftly. 
Link, trip. 
\A\\\.,Jlax. Sin lint was i' the 

bell, since flax was in flower. 
Lintwhile, lin^iet ; flaxen. 
Lij)pen, trust. ' 



Loan, milking-plaxe lane. 

Lon'on, Lo7ido7i. 

Loof, palm of the hand. 

Loot, let. 

Lough, a lake. 

Loup, lowp, leap. 

\^Ci\N , flaiite . 

Lowse, to loosen. 

Luckie, a desig7iation applied to 

a7i elderly 'W077ian. 
Lug, the ear, to produce ^ to bri7ig 

out. 
Luggies, small woode7i dishes 

with ha7idlts. 
Lunardi, a bo7met called after 

L U7ia rdi the aero7iaut . 
Lunt, si/ioke. 
Luver, lover. 
Lyart, gray. 

MAE, i7tore. 

Mailie, Molly. 

Mailen,/(jr;«. 

Mang, a77iong. 

Maukin, a hare. 

Maun, 77iust. 

Maunna, 77 lust 7iot. 

Maut, 77tatt. 

Mavis, the thrush. 

Meere, a 77iare. 

Meikle, 77iuch, large. 

Melder, cor7i or grai7t of a7iyki7id 

se7it to the 77iiil to be grou7id. 
Mell, /d? 77ieddle. 
Mense, good 7na7mers. 
Messin, a dog of t7iixed breeds, 

mo7igrel. 
Midden, the dunghill. 
Minnie, 772 other. 
Mirk, dark. 
Mither, 77iother. 
Mizzl'd, having differe7it colors / 

77iuzzled. 
Mools, the earlh of graves. 
Moop, to 7iibble, to keep C077ipa7iy 

ivith. 
Moss, a i7wrass. 
Mottle,/?^// of 7/iotes. 
Mou, 7nouth. 
Moudieworts, moles. 
Muckle, great, big, much. 
Muir, moor. 

NA', not, no. 
Naig, rt 7iag. 



GLOSSARY. 



281 



Nappy, ale 

Neebors, neighbors. 

Ne«-leckit, jieglected. 

Neist, 7iext. 

Neuk, nook, corner. 

Niest, next. 

^\e\'e,yirst 

Niffer, exchange, bargaiii. 

Nit, 7lUt 

Nocht, nothing. 
Nowt, crtz'^/i'. 

OCH, ah. 

O'erlay, an otitside dress, an over- 
all. 
Or, ere. 
Owsen, oxen. 

PACK, pack an' thick, on 
friendly or intijnate terms. 

Paidlc, to paddle ; ivaitder about 
without object or motive. 

Paincli, paimch, stomach. 

Paisley harn, coarse lifien. 

Pa i trick, partridge. 

VcWriich, oatmeal boiled i7t water, 
stirabotit. 

Pattle, a plough-staff. 

Pechan, the stomach. 

Plack, an old Scotch coin, the 
third part of a Scotoh peiuiy, 
twelve of which tnake an Eng- 
lish penny. 

Pleugh, plough. 

Pdind, to seize for sequestration. 

Pooriitli, poverty. 

Poupit, the pidpit. 

Pow, the head, the skull. 

Pree, to taste. 

Preen, a pi7i. 

Prent, print. 

Priggin, haggling. 

Proveses, provosts. 

Pund, pound. 

Pyle, grain. 

QLTAICK, quack. 
Qiiat, quit, quitted. 
Quean, yoking woman, 

RAGWEED, the plant ragwort. 
Rair, to roar. 

Raize, to inadden, to inflame 
Rantin, rant, noisy, full of ani 
inal spirits. 



Rash, a rush. 

Rash-buss, a chimp of rushes. 

Rattan, ratton, a rat. 

Rax, to stretch. 

Ream, crea7n,foa7n. 

Reave, rob. 

Red, rede, cou7isel. 

Red-wat, shod, over shoes in blood. 

Reek, s7/toke ; to s77ioke. 

Reestit, withered, si7iged; stood 

restive. 
Remead, remedy. 
Rig, a ridge. 
Riggin rafters 
Rigwooddie, withered, sapless. 
Ripj.), a handful of ti7tthrashed 

cor 71. 
Riskit, 77iade a 7ioiselike the tear- 

i7ig of roots. 
Rive, to burst, tear. 
Roon, round. 

Roupet, hoarse as with a cold. 
Routhie, tuell filled, abu/idant. 
Rowe, roll. 

Rowte, to low, to bellow. 
Rozet, rosin. 
Rung, a cudgel. 

SARK, a shirt, shift. 

Sarlvit, provided /« shirts- 

Saugh, willow. 

Saugh woodie, rope 77tade ofwil- 

Icnv 7uithes. 
Sauinont-cable, a sah7toti-boat. 
Saut, salt. 
Sax, six. 
Scaith, hurt. 
Scaud, to scald. 
Scaur, to scare ; frightened. 
Scawl, a scold. 
Sconner, to loathe ; loathing. 
Screed, a tear, a rent, to repeat 

glibly. 
Scrimp, sca7it. 
Seizin, seizing. 
Seventeen-hunner linen, li7ten 

woven i7i a reed of 1,700 divis- 

io7is. 
Shachl't, defor77ted. 
Shaird, a shred. 
Shaw, shcnv, wooded dell. 
Sheep shank, wha thinks himsel 

nae sheep-shank bane, who 

thi7iks hi77iself no unimporta7it 

perso7uxge. 



282 



GLOSSAA'V. 



Sheugh, a trench. 

Shiel, a shieliiig, a hut, shed. 

Siiog, a shock. 

Sliool, shovel. 

Sliodii, shoes. 

Shore, to threaten, offer. 

Sic, such. 

Siller, jnoney ; of the color of sil 
ver. 

Sin', since. 

Sindry, sundry. 

Sinfu'', sinful. 

Singet, singed. 

Sin^'t, sing it. 

Sinn, the sun. 

Sinsyne, since. 

Skaitli, irijnry. 

Skeiyh, high-mettled., shy, proud, 
disdaiiful. 

Slvelluni, a worthless fellow. 

Skelp, rt slap ; to strike, to ricn. 

Skelpie-linuner, a technical term 
in female scolding. 

Skelpiii, walking S7nartly, re- 
sounding. 

Skel])ing', slapping. 

Skelj)it, hurried. 

Skinklin, glitteri7ig. 

Shirl, /£? shriek. 

Sklent, to deviate from truth ; 
slant. 

Skreech, to screain. 

Skreigh, to scream. 

Slap, fash, gate, style, breach ifi 
hedge. 

Slee, shy. 

^leckit, sleek. 

Slidd'ry, slippery. 

Sloken, to queiich, to allay thirst. 

Slypet, slipped, fell over. 

Snieddum, dust, powder. 

Sineek, smoke. 

Smiddie, a stnithy. 

Smoor'd, smothered. 

Smytrie, a iiumber huddled to- 
gether. 

Snash, abuse, impertinence. 

Snaw, snozv. 

Snaw broo, meltedsnow. 

Sned, to lop, to cut. 

Snell, bitter,^ biting. 

Sneeshin-mill, a snuff-box. 

Snick, latch. 

Snool, z'tf cringe, to submit tamely, 
to snub. 



Snoov't, 7vent smoothly. 

Snowkit, snuffed. 

Sodger, a soldier. 

Sons'ie, jolly, comely. 

Soupe, a spoonful. 

Souple, supple. 

Souter, sowther, a shoemaker. 

Sowther, to solder, to make up. 

Spairge, dash or scatter about. 

Spate, a flood. 

Spean, to zveati. 

Speel, to climb. 

Speer, spier, to ask, to inquire. 

Spence, the comitry parlor. 

Sprackie, sprachle, cla7nber. 

Sprattle, to struggle. 

Spritty, _/«// of spirits; ftdl of 
roots. 

Spunk,jifr<', mettle, a spark. 

Spunkie, Will <?' the wisp ; full 
of spirit, whiskey. 

Spurtle, a stick with which por- 
ridge, broth, etc., are stirred 
while boiling. 

Squad, crew. 

Squatter, to flutter across the 
zvatcr like a duck. 

Squattle, to sprawl. 

Stacher, stagger, walk unsteadily. 

Stang, to sti7ig. 

Stank, a stag7iant pool or pond. 

Stark, stro7ig. 

Starns, stars. 

Staumrel, half-witted. 

Staw, to steal, to surfeit. 

Stechiu, c.ra77imi7ig, pa7iting with 
repletio7t. 

Steek, stitch, reticulation. 

Steer, to i7ijure, to stir up, t/io- 
lest. 

Steeve, firin, co77ipacted. 

Sten, a leap or boimd. Hasty 
stens, hasty stretchers or rushes. 

Sten't, reared. 

Stent, assesstnent, dues, sti7it, 
task. 

Stibble, stubble. 

Stilt, halt. 

Stimpart, a half peck. 

Stoor, sou7id, hollow or hoarse. 

^towp, jug. 

Stoure, dust; pleasure of circum- 
stances. 

Stown, stolen. 

Straught, straight. 



GLOSSARY. 



283 



Streekit, sh-etclied. Streekit owre, 

stretched across. 
Stroan, spout, squirt. 
Studdie, a stithy, anvil. 
Strunt, spirituous liquor of atiy 

kind; to ivxlk stjirdily . 
Sturt, to molest, to vex,/righten. 
Sug'li, a rushi7ig sound. 
Swaird, sivard. 
Swall'd, s^velled. 
Swank, stately, limber, jolly. 
Swat, sweat. 
Swats, ale. 
Swirl, a cur7ie. 
Swith, swift. 
Syne, since, then. 

TACKETS, a kind of nails for 

driving into tfie heels of shoes. 
Taet, small qjiantity. 
Tane, the one. 
Tassie, a goblet. 
Tauld, told. 
Tawie, tame. 

Tavvted, matted, uncoinbed. 
Teen, proz'ocation, chagrin. 
Tent, to take heed ; mark. 
Tentie, heedful. 
Teug'hly, toughly. 
Thack an' rape, thatch and rope, 

clothes ; ' ' in good order.'''' 
Thae, these. 
Thairm , fiddlestring. 
Theekit, thatched, covered up, 

secured. 
Thegither, together. 
Thieveless, cold, dry, spitefd. 
Thir, these, their. 
Thnle, to sitffer, to endure. 
Thowe, thaw. 
Thrang, bjtsy, croivd. 
Thrave, twenty- four sheaves of 

corn, iticluding tiuo shocks. 
Thraw, to spraiti or tzvist, to cross 

or cofitradict. 
Threap, to argue. 
Thretteen, thirteen, 
Thrissle, the thistle. 
Thud, 7nake a loud, intertnittefit 

noise, resoU7iding blow. 
Till, unto. 

Timmer, timber, the tree boughs. 
Tine, tvne, to lose ; to go astray. 
Tint, lost. 
Tinkler, a titiker. 



Tip, rain. 

Tippence, twopence. 

Tippenny, two pewiy ale. 

Tirl, to strip, knock, ufiroof. 

Tither, the other. 

Tocher, marriage portio?t, dowry. 

Todiin, tottering. 

Tod, fox. 

Toop, a ram. 

Touzie, 7-ough, shaggy. 

Towtnond, a twelvemonth. 

Towzie, towzling, rumpliiig, 

dishevelling. 
Toy, a very old fashion of female 

head-dress. 
Toyte, to totter. 

TranRmugvify'd, 7netafnorphosed. 
Trashtrie, trash. 
Trinkling, trickling, flowing. 
Trowth, a petty oath. 
Tulzie, a qiiarrel. 
Tup, a ram. 
Twa, two. 

Twal, tivelve, twelve o'' clock. 
Tyke, a vagrant dog. 

UNCHANCY, dangerous. 
Unco, very, great, extreme, 

stratige. 
Uncos, strange things, news of 

tJie co7ifitry side. 
Usquebae, whiskey. 

VAUNTIE, proud, in high 

spirits. 
Vera, very. 

Virla, rittg round a column. 
Vow, an interjectio7i expressive 

of admiration or surprise. 

WAD, would, a wager. 

Waif, stray sheep. 

Wale, choice. Pick and wale, of 

choicest quality. 
Walie, waly, wawlie, ample, 

large. 
Wallop in a tether, to hang dne^s 

self 
Wame, the belly. 
Wanchancie, wducky. 
Wanrestfu', restless. 
\Vare, to spend, worn. 
Wark-lume, a tool to work with. 
Warlock, a wizard. 
Warly, worldly. 



284 



GLOSSARY. 



^Varsle, to wrestle. 

Wast, west. 

Wastrie, prodigality, riot. 

Wat, %vet coat ; wot, kitow. 

Wattle, a szuitch. 

Wauble, to swing, to reel, wobble. 

AVaukit, thickened with toil. 

Waukrife, wakeful. 

Wawlie, strapping. 

Wean, child. 

Wee, little. A wee, a short pe- 

r-iod of time. 
Weel, well. 

Weelhaind, carefully saved. 
Weet, 7vet, detv, rain. 
Westlin, western ; 7vhistling, 
Whaizle, to 7vheeze. 
Whalpit, wlielped. 
Whid, r7c?i as a hare. 
Whigmeleerics, crochets. 
Whing, cry, complain, fret. 
'Whin, furze brush. 
Whirlygig-ums, useless ortia- 

vients. 
Whisht, /^rtc^. Held myivhisht, 

kept sile7ice. 
Whun-stane, whinstone, gra^iite. 
Wliyles, sometimes. 
Widdiefu, ill-tempered. 
Willie-waught, a hearty draught. 
Willyart, wild, strange, titnid. 
Wimple, wave, meander. 



Win nock-bunker, a seat in a 

ivindo^v. 

Wintle, stagger. 

Wiss, 7vish. 

Wist, ktte7v. 

Wonner, a wonder, a contemp- 
tuous appellation. 

Won, dzvell. 

Woo', wool. 

Woodie, the gallows, a rope, more 
properly one made of withes 
or ivillows. 

Wordy, worthy. 

Wow, an exclamation of pleas- 
tire or wonder. 

Wyliecoat, aflantiel coat. 

YEALIN, yearling, contejnpo- 

raneo7is. 
YitW, barren. As yell's the Bill, 

giving no more milk than the 

bidl. 
Yerkit, jerked, lashed. 
Yestreen, yesternight. 
Yett, gate. 
Yill, ale. 

Yird, yirth, earth. 
Yont. beyo7id. 
Younkers, yotmgsters. 
Yowe, ewe. 
Yule, Christmas. 



NOTES. 



P. 5 7, Title and structure of poem suggested by Robert Fer- 
gusson's "Farmer's Ingle." Composed 1785, and repeated to 
Gilbert Burns as the two brothers were taking a Sunday after- 
noon walk. When Burns made his first and only visit on Eng- 
lish soil, he knelt with bared head and recited the last two 
stanzas. In the earlier editions the second line of the last stanza 
reads : — 

" That stream'' d thro' great^ unhappy Wallace' heart.'^ 

P. 64. Said on the authority of Mrs. Burns to have been 
composed in one day. Completed Jan. 23, 1791. 

P. 71. Composed after deciding to publish his poems ; just 
before Feb. 17, 1786. Ltiath was the name of Burns's favorite 
dog, wantonly killed the night before his father's death. 

P. 79. The New Bridge, begun May, 17S6 ; completed Novem- 
ber, 1788; due largely to John Ballantyne, Dean of Guild, and 
afterwards Provost of the Burough. Poem suggested by Fer- 
gusson's "The Plainstones and Causeway" and "The Twa 
Ghaists." 

P. Z^. Captain Henderson was one of the subscribers to the 
edition of 1787. He died in November, 1788. Burns says in a 
letter dated Aug. 2, 1790 : " I have not flattered his memory." 

P. 93. Originally sixty stanzas ; then condensed to thirty- 
eight. In the Edinburgh edition the seven that conclude Duan 
I. were restored, and the verse " And when the Bard or hoary 
Sage " added. Duan is an Ossianic term. Coila from Kyle, an 
Ayrshire district, or from Coil, a traditional Pictish monarch. 
The poem was possibly suggested by Cowley's " Vision." 

P. 102. Written in April, 17S6 : first entitled " The Gowan." 
285 



286 NOTES. 

P. 104. Composed, according to Gilbert Burns, while the 
authorwas holding the plough. Jolin Blane, a gaudsman or farm 
servant, was driving the plough when the mouse ran before 
them. He would have killed it, but Burns restrained him. 

P. 106. Burns's scrap-book title: "A Prayer when fainting- 
fits and other alarming symptoms of a pleurisy or some other 
dangerous disorder which indeed still threatens me, first put 
nature on the alarm." Written early in 1781. 

P. 107. Another title : " Misgivings of Despondency on the 
approach of the Gloomy Monarch of the Grave," Written also 
during the gloomy year 17S1. 

P. 108. The " lady " was a Mauchline belle well known. 

P. no. Date of composition not known : probably after the 
summer of 1786. 

P. 113. Written about February, 1791. This poem particu- 
larly pleased Burns himself. 

P. 115. Miss Wilhelmina Alexander was the heroine. Prob- 
ably composed in the summer of 1786. 

P. 116. Composed in part on the plan of an old song of the 
same name printed in Robert Jamieson's Ballads (1806), taken 
from a black-letter copy in the Pepys Library. Burns wrote 
and undoubtedly preferred the first line to read : " There was 
•three kings into the East." 

P. 119. Suggested by an old Scots dirge called "The Life 
and Age of Man," known by Burns's mother, and by her given 
to Cromek. 

P. 122. Composed in the winter of 1784-85. Repeated to 
Gilbert Burns as the two brothers were going with carts for coal. 

P. 127. Written in December, 1791, in reference to " Clarin- 
da's " proposed visit to her husband in Jamaica. Burns saw 
Mrs. M'Lehose on Dec. 6. She sailed in February, 1792, on the 
Roselle.the same ship which Burns had expected to take in 1786. 
Though she soon returned to Scotland, she and the poet never 
met again. On the 6th of December, 1831, she, being 72, wrote : 
" This day I never can forget. Parted with Burns in the year 
1 79 1, never more to meet in this world. Oh, may we meet in 
heaven ! " 



NOTES. 287 

P. 128. It has been conjectured tliat the Mary of Af ton water 
was Highland Mary, and that the poem was composed before her 
death. Afton is an Ayrshire stream and flows into the Nith. 

P. 129. Composed in reference to the sad and romantic his- 
tory of Miss Peggy Kennedy of Carrick, to whom in 1785 he had 
written the song "Young Peggy." The version on page 130 
was the earlier form, and was written in 1787: "While here 
I sit," wrote Burns, " sad and solitary by the side of a fire in a 
little country inn, and drying my wet clothes." 

P. 131. Later variation of an old song remodelled by Burns 
in 1794. Clouden is a stream that flows into the Nith. The 
" silent towers" were a favorite haunt of the poet and are men- 
tioned in the song " A Lassie all alone": — 
" As I stood by yon roofless toivcr 

Where the waflower scetits the detvy air, 
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower 
And tells the midnigJit moon her care.''' 
P. 132. The final poem of the first edition of Burns's poems. 
P. 133. Burns had sent a letter to Dr. Blacklock, the blind 
poet, detailing certain changes in his circumstances. The letter 
was lost, and Dr. Blacklock, Aug. 24, 1789, wrote Burns an 
epistle beginning : — 

" Dear Burns, thou brother of my heart," 
and asking various questions: — 

" Most anxiously I wish to know 
With thee of late how matters go : 
How keeps thy miich-loved Jeatt her health ? 
What promises thy far 7n of wealth, 
Whether the Muse persists to smile 
Atid all thy anxious cares beguile ? 
Whether bright fancy keeps alive 
And how thy darling infants thrive ? " 
This letter was Burns's reply. Blacklock was born in 1721, 
died 1791, 

P. I "^6. Written to Andrew Aiken, who died English Consul 
in Riga in 1831. It was written on Monday, May 15, 1786, the 



25» NOTES. 

very day that Highland Mary left her place at Mauchline, and 
following " the day of lasting love." 

P. 139. William Gordon, Viscount Kenmure, beheaded on 
Tower Hill, 1716, for fighting for Prince Charles Edward in 
1 71 5. In the rebellion Burns's grandfather was also concerned. 
Song founded on an old ballad. 

P. 140. Written April, 1793. The "Mill o' Ness" at the 
Linn, near Sundrum House, is the scene. The mill is now de- 
molished, but the trysting thorn still blooms. 

P. 142. Com.posed before Burns went to Irvine, in his 23d 
year. The Stinchar flows through the moors of Carrick. 

P. 144. Composed in three-quarters of an hour, June 25, 

1793- 

P. 145. Composed probably May, 1789, at a time when "the 
delightful sensations of an omnipotent toothache " so engrossed 
all his inner man as to put it out of his power " to write any- 
thing but nonsense." " Fifty troops of infernal spirits," he 
wrote Creech, " are driving fast, from ear to ear, along my jaw- 
bones." 

P. 146. This " glorious fragment " was, as Burns said, a song 
of the olden times. Burns furnished the two stanzas beginning, 
" We two," and probably altered the others. He sent it to Mrs. 
Dunlop, December, 1788. 

P. 147. Composed September, 1793. " There is a tradition," 
says the poet in a letter to Thomson, enclosing this ode, " that 
the old air, ' Hey, tuttie taitie,' was Robert Bruce's march at the 
battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my solitary wander- 
ings, has warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of 
liberty and independence which I have thrown into a kind of 
Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the 
gallant Scot's address to his heroic followers on that eventful 
morning." This ode Professor Wilson called " the grandest out 
of the Bible." 

P. 148. Supposed to have been composed on the sixth anni- 
versary of Mary Campbell's death. Furnished to Thomson 
Nov. 14, 1792. Burns wrote, "I think it is in my happiest 
manner." 



NOTES. 289 

P. 150, Composed on the third anniversary of Highland 
Mary's death. Lockhart calls it the noblest of all Burns's songs, 

P. 151. Long supposed to be a song addressed to Highland 
Mary, but discovered in 1871 to be a copy of verses from the 
Greek of Euripides printed in the EdinbiirgJi Magazine in 1774. 
Burns had liked it and sent it to Thomson. 

P. 152. Burns's first song contributed to Thomson's collec- 
tion, October, 1792. 

P. 153. An improvement on the old song, 

" My wife's a wanton wee thing." 

Thomson changed the word watitofi to wi)isoine, and added his 
name as joint author. It was sent Nov. 8, 1792. 

P. 154. Composed in Burns's last illness and addressed to 
his faithful attendant, Jessie Lewars. 

P. 155. Mary Morison is believed to be Burns's poetic name 
for Ellison Begbie, with whom he was in love when he was 
about twenty-two, and whom he celebrated as " the lass o' Cess- 
nock Bank." This poem was sent to Thomson March 20, 

1793- 

P. 156. Sent to Thomson November, 1792. Miss Lesley 
Baillie, with her father and sister, called on Burns at Dumfries 
on their way to England. Burns accompanied them some fifteen 
miles, and composed the song as he rode back alone. 

P. 157. An old song revised by Burns. It does not refer to 
the river Rye. 

P. 158. Composed January, 1795. 

P. 160. The first four lines of " The Siller Tassie " are not 
by Burns. Written December, 17S8. 

P. 160. " Young Jessie" composed April, 1793. Jessie was 
the daughter of Provost Staig of Dumfries, 

P. 161. Sent to Thomson December, 1792. The original 
from which the idea was borrowed was very coarse. Burns re- 
tained only the first line and a part of the third. 

P, 162. Sent to Mrs. M'Lehose early in December, 1791; 
also to Johnson, " to set to a most beautiful air, out of compliment 
to the first of women, my ever-beloved, my ever-sacred Clarinda." 



290 NOTES. 

He sent it also to Mrs. Dunlop inscribed : " To my dear and 
much-honored friend, Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlop." 

P. 163. Burns's abridgment of a long, ancient rant. 

P. 164. Suggested by an old Jacobite song. Supposed to 
have been composed about 1792, in compliment to the Reform 
leaders in Parliament. " Charlie, the chief of the clan," is 
Charles James Fox ; " Tammie, the Norland laddie," is Thomas 
Erskine. 

P. 165. Burns wrote: "The first half stanza is old — the 
rest is mine." It was suggested by a ditty entitled " The strong 
walls of Derry," which v/as a great favorite with Sir Walter Scott. 
The chorus ran : — 

'•'■Let tis drink and gae hame, boys — drink and gae hame^ 
If we stay ony I anger, ■we'' II get a bad name ; 
We'' II get a bad name, and we'll fill oiirseP s fo7i, 
And the stro7ig walls of Derry are ill to win through^ 

P. 166. This song, says Burns, " 1 composed out of com- 
pliment to Mrs. Burns. N. B. — It was during the honeymoon.'' 
Burns spent his honeymoon, June, 1788, mostly at Ellisland, 
while " Young Jean " was at Mossgiel, to the west. John 
Hamilton, a music-seller of Edinburgh, added the two following 
stanzas, which are often attributed to Burns, and sung in addi- 
tion to his beautiful song : — 

" O blazv, ye zvestlin'' winds, blaw saft amang the leafy trees .' 
Wi ''gentle breath frae miiir an' dale, bring hame the laden 

bees ; 
An' bring 7ne her can cheer my soul, an' brighten every 

scene, — 
Ae blink 0' her can banish care, — sae charming is 77iy fea7i I 

What sighs a/i' voxvs ama7ig the k7iowes, atwee7i tis twa hae 

past ! 
How fai7i to 77ieet, how wae to part, whe7i parti7i' came at last! 
The Powers aboo7i ca7t o/ily ke7i, to who77i the heart is see7i, 
That dearer tha7t 77ty deathless soul, I lo'e my darling 

Jea7i I " . 



NOTES. 291 

In the second line of Burns's first stanza " like " was after- 
wards changed to *' lo'e," and the twelfth to 
" Wi'' music charm the air^ 

P. 167. " It is na Jean." Burns says : " These were origi- 
nally English verses: I gave them their Scotch dress." 

P. 167. Composed September, 1788, in honor of Captain 
Riddel's wedding anniversary, which occurred Nov. 7. 

P. 168. Says Burns : " This song I composed on Miss Jenny 
Cruickshank, only child to my worthy friend Mr. William 
Cruickshank of the High School, Edinburgh." Burns for a 
time resided with Mr. Cruickshank. The " rose-bud " was pro- 
ficient in music. Professor Walker called on Burns in October, 
1787, and says he " found him seated by the harpsichord of this 
young lady, listening with the keenest interest to his own verses, 
which she sung and accompanied, and adjusting them to the 
music by repeated trials of the effect. In this occupation he was 
so totally absorbed, that it was difficult to draw his attention 
from it for a moment. 

P. 169. Composed September, 1787. Says Robert Chambers : 
" James Macpherson was a noted Highland freebooter of un- 
common personal strength, and an excellent performer on the 
violin. After holding the counties of Aberdeen, Banff, and 
Moray in fear for some years, he was seized by Duff of Braco, 
ancestor of the Earl of Fife, and tried before the sheriff of 
Banffshire (Nov. 7, 1700), along with certain gypsies who had 
been taken in his company. In the prison, while he lay under 
sentence of death, he composed a song and an appropriate air, 
the former commencing thus : — 

" ' Pve spent my time in rioting^ 

DebaucWd viy health and strength ; 
I squandered fast as pillage came. 
And fell to shame at length. 

But dantonly, and wantonly, 
And rantingly I'll gae ; 

r II play a tune, and dance it roun' 
Beneath the gallows-tree.'' 



292 NOTES. 

When brought to the place of execution, on the Gallows-hill of 
Banff (Nov. 16), he played the tune on his violin, and then 
asked if any friend was present who would accept the instrument 
as a gift at his hands. No one coming forward, he indignantly 
broke the violin on his knee, and threw away the fragments ; 
after which he submitted to his fate. The traditional accounts 
of Macpherson's immense prowess are justified by his sword, 
which is still preserved in Duff House, at Banff, and is an im- 
plement of great length and weight — as well as his bones, which 
were found a few years ago, and were allowed by all who saw 
them to be much stronger than the bones of ordinary men." 

P. 170. One of the earliest of Burns's songs. Set down in 
his commonplace book in August, 1784. The last stanza 
probably added in Edinburgh. 

P. 171. Sent to Thomson in October, 1794, with the re- 
mark : " I have been at Duncan Gray to dress it in English, but 
all I can do is deplorably stupid." 

P. 172. The first two stanzas only are by Burns. Those 
beginning " O give my love " were published in the second volume 
of Hurd's collection, 1776. Burns confessed that his lines were 
far inferior. It has been remarked that birds would not take 
shelter in a lilac-tree on account of the peculiar odor of the flower. 

P. 173. Written Feb. 27, 1792, while Burns was out watch- 
ing a brig suspected of being engaged in contraband trade. 
When the captured brig with her cargo was sold at auction at 
Dumfries, the poet bought four carronades for three pounds, and 
sent them as a present to the French Convention, with a letter 
testifying his admiration and respect. The guns and letter were 
stopped at the custom-house at Dover. 

P. 173. " The Highland Lassie," said Burns, " was a composi- 
tion of mine in very early life, before I was at all known in the 
world." It referred to Mary Campbell. 

P. 175. Composed December, 17S9. Jean, the daughter of 
the Rev. Andrew Jeffrey of Lochmaben, at whose house Burns 
occasionally visited. He gave it to her one morning at break- 
fast. She was married afterwards to a Mr. Renwick, and lived 
in New York. 



NOTES. 293 

P. 176. Peggy was Miss Margaret Chalmers, to whom was 
written also " My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form." Both were 
sent to her December, 1 787, in a letter in which he wrote : " I have 
complimented you chiefly, almost solely, on your mental charms. 
Shall I be plain with you? I will: so look to it! Personal 
attractions, madam, you have above par — wit, understanding, 
and worth you possess in the first class." Miss Chalmers was 
a cousm of Burns's first patron, Gavin Hamilton. 

P. 176. "Here's a health." Composed May, 1796, while 
he was in his last sickness. Jessy, of course, was Miss Jessy 
Lewars, sister of his friend and brother exciseman, Lewars. 

P. 177. Burns's composition except two or three lines. 

P. 183. Sent to Professor Dugald Stewart, Jan. 20, 1789, as 
a part of an intended poem to be called '' The Poet's Progress." 
The portrait was probably meant as that of Creech, the Edin- 
burgh publisher of his poems. 

P. 183, " Weary fa' you " was taken from an old song with 
considerable alteration. 

P. 184. Composed 17S6. Burns became a Mason July 4, 
1781. He was Deputy-Master and often "honored with supreme 
command." Down to March 1, 1786, he signed the minutes as 
Robert Burness. 

P. 186. Composed on "New-year-day morning," 1789, at 
EUisland. The scarcity of water at Edinburgh, and the illness 
of George HI., which raised talk concerning his son as probable 
regent, are referred to in the last lines. 

P. 187. Major was Mrs. Dunlop's son, afterwards General 
Dunlop. Rachael and Keith were her daughters : the one was 
painting a picture from Burns's " Vision ; " the other, one from 
Gray's " Elegy." 

P. 189. Sent incomplete to Mrs. Dunlop, April 4, 17S9. 

P. 191. This song was first published in 1846, in the New 
York Mirror. It was supplied by Mrs. Renwick, nee Jean 
Jeffrey, to whom Burns also wrote: "I gaed a waefu' gate yes- 
treen." Its authenticity has been questioned, but it is said 
to have been collated with a copy in Burns's handwriting. 

P. 192. Composed January, 1788. "Clarinda" begged him 



294 NOTES. 

not to publish it. " Do not," she wrote, "for your sake and for 
mine." 

P. 194. The last song Burns composed for Johnson's Mu- 
seian. Mally (also Mailie) is Scots for Molly, Mary. 

P. 195. Mrs. Begg, Burns's sister, believed that this was an 
old song known in Ayrshire when the poet was a child. 

P. 196. An old ballad fragment with a few verbal alterations 
by Burns. 

P. T97. " O lay thy loof." Written for a song sung on St. 
Crispin's Day. 

P. 19S. An old song by Theobald (1727), remodelled. 

P. 199. The heroine was Miss Margaret Kennedy, daughter 
of a landed proprietor of Carrick. She was betrothed to Cap- 
tain Maxwell, but was ruined by M'Dougal of Logan. See 
" Ye banks and Braes," p. 129, 287. 

P. 201. "Out over the Forth." March 1791. A favorite 
piece with Burns. 

P. 202. Burns's variation of a "fine old song" in Herd's 
collection, February, 1788. 

P. 203. In memory of Burns's parting with " Clarinda," 
Dec. 6, 1791. See " Ae fond kiss," p. 127, 286. 

P. 204. Bonny Bell, published Aug. 13, 1792. 

P. 205. August, 1795. Inspired by " Chloris " — Jean Lori- 
mer — to whom he wrote a number of beautiful songs. See note 
to "Sweet fa's the eve," p. 216, 296. 

P. 206. " Bonny wee thing." Burns wrote: "Composed on 
my little idol, the charming, lovely Davies." Miss Davies was a 
connection of Captain Riddel. She died a victim of unrequited 
love. 

P. 206. " Lassie wi' the lint-white locks," composed in honor 
of Jean Lorimer, in November, 1794. 

P. 208. The interview took place in 17S6 at Professor Dugald 
Stewart's villa at Catrine. Lord Daer, heir to the earldom of 
Selkirk, died November, 1794. 

P. 210. Published in the Caledoniatt Mercury, Dec. 20, 
1786. A haggis is composed of minced offal of mutton, mixed 
with meal and suet, to which are added various condiments by 



NOTES. 295 

way of seasoning, and the whole is tied up tightly in a sheep's 
stomach, and boiled therein. See Wilson's " Noctes Ambrosi- 
anae," where is a graphic and humorous description of a monster 
haggis. The Edinburgh Literary Journal, 1829, made the 
foUowmg statement : " At Mauchlme Mr. Robert Morrison, 
cabinet-maker, was a great crony of Burns's, and it was in his 
house that he wrote his celebrated ' Address to a Haggis,' after 
partaking liberally of that dish as prepared by Mrs. Morrison." 
P. 212. Burns wrote Alexander Cunningham, May 4, 1789; 
" One morning lately, as I was out pretty early in the fields, 
sowing some grass-seeds, I heard the burst of an echo from a 
neigliboring plantation, and presently a poor little wounded hare 
came crippling by me. You will guess my indignation at the 
inhuman fellow who could shoot a hare at this season when all 
of them have young ones." The sportsman was James Thom- 
son, who afterwards said : " He cursed me, and said he would 
not mind throwing me into the water ; and I'll warrant he could 
hae done 't, though I was both young and strong." Burns excised 
the following stanza which came next the last : — 
" Perhaps a mother'' s anguish add its woe, 

The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side; 
Ah ! helpless nurslings^ who will now provide 
That life a juothcr only can bestow ? " 

Burns's friend, Dr. Gregory, to whom he sent a copy of the 
poem the following June, made some severe criticisms on it, in 
reference to which Burns soon after wrote : " Dr. Gregory is a 
good man, but he crucifies me. I believe in his iron justice ; 
but like the devils, I believe and tremble." 

P. 213. The first sketch of this song furnished the Museum 
in the winter of 1787 ; the complete song in August, 1793, when 
he was enraptured with Jean Lorimer. He directed Thomson 
to change the last line of the chorus to : — 

" Thy Jcanie will venture wi ' you, my lad^ 

P. 214. Gilbert Burns and Robert Chambers believed this to 
be not by Burns. Allan Cunningham decides that he has no 
doubt it was the work of Burns. 



296 NOTES. 

P. 216. Burns said: "The song was composed on a passion 
which a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a 
Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelpdale." She was the 
daughter of a well-to-do farmer at Kemmis-Hall. When she 
was eighteen or nineteen (in 1793) ^^e contracted a Gretna 
Green marriage with an English scapegrace who soon became 
bankrupt and ran away. In October, 1 794, Burns wrote : " The 
young lady on whom it [Craigie-burn Wood] was made is one of 
the finest women in Scotland; and in fact (^cnt}-e nons) is in 
a manner to me what Sterne's Eliza was to him — a mistress, a 
friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic 
love." 

P. 216. " O, for ane and twenty." Contributed to the fourth 
edition of Johnson's Museum^ Aug. 13, 1792. 

P. 217. Composed, or, as Burns expressed it, "carded and 
spun," early in December, 1786, immediately after his arrival at 
Edinburgh. The " fair Burnet " was Lord Monboddo's daugh- 
ter, who died in.i7S9. Burns wrote an elegy upon her. 
" There has not been anything," he wrote, " nearly like her in 
all the combinations of beauty, grace, and goodness the Creator 
has formed since Milton's Eve on the first day of her existence." 

P. 220. Burns made two versions of this poem. The first 
was written in June 28, 1788. The MS. of the amended copy 
is headed, "Altered from the foregoing, in December, 17S8." 
The hermitage was on the property of Captain Riddel of Friar's 
Carse, a beautiful house with fine grounds, a mile above Ellis- 
land. Burns had a key and was permitted to wander at will in 
the beautiful grounds. The first six lines were graven with a 
diamond on a pane of glass in a window of the " ivied cot." It 
is now in ruins. 

P. 222. " On Scaring some Waterfowl." Composed October, 
1787, while making an excursion to Ochtertyre in Strathearn. 
Back of the house was a valley in which Loch-Turit lies. 

P. 224. Composed July 2, 1793. "The heroine," wrote 
Burns, "is Miss Macmurdo, daughter of Mr. Macmurdo, of 
Drumlanrig." 

P. 226. Burns wrote : " I composed these stanzas standing 



NOTES. 297 

under the Falls of Moness, at or near Aberfeldy," Thursday, 
Aug. 30, 1787. 

P. 227. Published Aug, 30, 1792. 

P. 228. Composed May, 1795. 

P. 229, Composed in August, 1777. Inspired by Miss Peggy 
Thomson, who lived next door to the school at Kirkoswald 
where he was studying mensuration. He was in love with her 
for several years; but in November, 1784, he wrote Thomas Orr, 
telling him he was glad to have got Peggy off his hands. Peggy 
Thomson was not Montgomerie's Peggy or Peggy Kennedy. 

P. 231. Published Sept. 4, 1789, and signed " Thomas A. Linn." 
Francis Grose was a broken-down English gentleman who took 
to antiquarian literature and published several works with etch- 
ings from his own drawings. He died in Dublin, May, 1791, 
three weeks after the publication of his book containing Burns's 
" Tam O' Shanter." Maidenkirk, or rather Kirkmaiden, in line 
two, is the most southerly parish in Scotland. 

P. 233, William Simpson, schoolmaster of Ochiltree, and 
afterwards of New Cumnock, who died in 181 5. He was some- 
thing of a poet, though he never published his effusions. 

P. 239. The woods were felled by the Duke of Queensbury, 
in order by their sale to enrich his supposed natural daughter, 
the Countess of Yarmouth. The verses, according to the news- 
paper in which they were first printed, "were found written on 
the window shutter of a small inn on the banks of the Nith soon 
after the beauty of the finest scenes that were perhaps to be met 
with in the south of Scotland had been sacrificed to sordid 
avarice. Burns is supposed to have been their author." Their 
authorship was doubted by Allan Cunningham, but they are in 
his best manner, and quite in accordance with his custom of 
leaving verses in public places. 

P. 241. "The effusion of a half hour I spent at Bruar." So 
wrote Burns Sept. 5, 1787. He reached Blair Castle, the seat of 
the Duke of Athole, Aug. 31, and stayed there till Monday, 
Sept. 3. The Duke acted on the petition, and had shrubbery 
set out. 

P. 244. Written at Irvine in 17S2. Due to a real incident in 



298 NOTES. 

which, however, the pet yowe was saved from strangling. The 
Elegy (p. 247) is probably of later composition. 

P. 249. " How long, etc." Written in 1787. In some editions 
in the third line of the last stanza a comma or dash seems to 
make the meaning a little clearer. 

P. 250. Composed November, 1794. Burns, in May, 1795, 
wrote Thomson to engrave a vignette of his head, as an illus- 
tration to it, " in order that the portrait of his face and the picture 
of his mind might go down the stream of time together." 

P. 251. Composed March, 1793. Suggested by an old ditty 
in Hurd's collection. Possibly has reference to " Clarinda," who 
the year before sailed to join her unworthy husband, Mr. 
M'Lehose, in Jamaica. 

P. 252. " My Nannie's Awa." Sent December, 1794. Sup- 
posed to have reference to " Clarinda." 

P. 252. "O Lassie." Composed February, 1795. 

P. 254. The Bard''s song in "The Jolly Beggars," omitting 
the first two verses for which the opening verse and a new chorus 
are substituted. 

P. 256. An old fragment which Burns altered, prefixing an 
original stanza. Contributed to Johnson's third volume Feb. 2, 
1790. 

P. 257. This song is to be found in Hurd's collection (vol. 
ii., p. 202), 1776, and cannot be Burns's, though generally in- 
cluded in his works . a concluding verse — 

" An'' ay she cam'' at e'enin fa^ 

Ainang the yellow broom sae eerie, 
To seek the snood 0' silk she tint, — 
SJie fand no that, but tnet her dearie^'' 

is supposed to be by Burns. 

The silken snood or ribbon on the hair was a popular symbol 
of virginity. 

P. 258. " Galla Water." Composed January, 1793. 

P. 258. " Auld Rob Morris." Sent to Thomson Dec. 4, 
1792. The second stanza was meant to describe Miss Charlotte 
Hamilton. 



NOTES. 299 

P. 259. Composed October, 1787. The heroine was Miss 
Euphemia Murray, cousin of Sir William Murray, at whose 
home Burns visited at Ochtertyre. 

P. 260. Composed August or September, 1789, after Mr. 
William Nicol of the Edinburgh High School, Mr. Masterton, 
a musician, and Burns had had a convivial meeting at Moffat. 

P. 262. Supposed to refer to Miss Peggy Chalmers. Prob- 
ably written November, 1787. 

P, 263. An imitation of an old song. The historical refer- 
ence is to the battle of Culloden in 1746. 

P. 264. Burns wrote : " The chorus of this song is old ; the 
two stanzas are mine." Published in vol. ii. of Musical 
Museum., Feb. 14, 1788. 

P. 265. " There's a youth." " The first stanza," says Burns, 
" is old — the rest is mine." Published in vol. iii. of Johnson's 
Aliisenni, Feb. 2, 1790. 

P. 265. "The Rigs o' Barley." Written at Lochlea, 1782. 
The " Annie" is not known. 

P. 267. Published in Dumfries /f^rw*?/ May 5, 1795. Burns 
joined the regmient. Allan Cunnmgham thus wrote : " I well 
remember the appearance of that respectable corps ; their odd 
but not ungraceful dress ; white Kerseymere breeches and waist- 
coat, short blue coat faced with red, and round hat, sur- 
mounted by a bear skin, like the helmets of our Horse Guards ; 
and I remember the poet also — his very swarthy face, his plough- 
man's stoop, his «arge dark eyes, and his indifferent dexterity 
in the handling of his arms." The threatened invasion was not 
made, but the poem became immensely popular. Burns had a 
broadside of it struck off and distributed among the " volun- 
teers." 

P. 268. Composed in the summer of 1795. "^^^ " Jean " was 
probably not "bonny Jean," his wife, but "Jean Lorimer," his 
" Chloris." 

P. 269. Written for Thomson in July, 1795. ^^ '^^s so 
popular that Johnson, his rival introduced the same song with 
a few verbal variations, pretending that it had been sent to him 
before it appeared in Thomson's collection. 



300 NOTES. 

P. 270. Sent to Thomson in April, 1793. A song with the 
same title — the picture of a drunken wedding — was furnished 
by Burns to Johnson's Museum,. 

P, 271, Composed just before Mrs. Burns joined him at 
Ellisland in December, 1788. 

P. 272, This immensely popular song records the tradition 
that on the night Burns was born " a blast o' Jan'war win' " 
blew in a portion of the "auld clay biggin " erected by William 
Burns, and the mother and child had to be removed to a neigh- 
bor's. 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 

Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond 
adieu ! . . . . 184 

Ae fond kiss, and then we 
sever! . . . , 127 

A guid New-Year I wish 
thee, Maggie ! . . . 179 

A little, upright, pert, tart, 
tripping wight . . . 1S3 

Altho' thou maun never be 
mine ..... 176 

A rose-bud by my early walk 168 

A slave to love's unbounded 
sway 197 

As Mailie, an' her lambs the- 
gither .... 244 

As on the banks o' wander- 
ing Nith .... 239 

Behind yon hills where Stin- 

char flows .... 142 
Bonny wee thing, cannie wee 

thing ..... 206 
Braw, braw lads of Galla 

water .... 257 

Braw, braw lads on Yarrow 

braes .... 258 

But lately seen in gladsome 

green .... 249 

By Ochtertyre grows the aik 259 

Cauld blaws the wind frae 

east to west . . . 264 
Coming through the rye, 

poor body .... 157 
Contented wi' little, and 

cantie wi' mair . . . 250 

Does haughty Gaul invasion 

threat ? . . . . 267 
Duncan Gray came here to 

woo . . . . .161 

301 



Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

Fair empress of the Poet's 

soul 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie 

face ..... 
Farewell, ye dungeons dark 

and strong 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, 

among thy green braes 
For Lords or Kings I dinna 

mourn .... 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 

Hail, Poesie ! thou Nymph 
reserv'd .... 

Hark ! the mavis' evening 
sang 

Ha! whare ye gaun, ye 
crawlin ferlie ! . 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and 
brither Scots 

Here awa, there awa, wan- 
dering Willie 

Here's a health to them that's 
awa 

Here's to thy health, my 
bonny lass 

Hey, the dusty miller . 

How lang and dreary is the 
night .... 

How Wisdom and Folly 
meet, mix, and unite 

I coft a stane o' haslock woo' 
I gaed a waef u' gate yestreen 
I <jTit your letter, winsome 

Willie .... 

I lang hae thought, my 

youthfu' friend 



PAGE 
217 



207 
210 
169 
128 
186 
160 

214 
131 
108 
231 
251 
164 

196 
249 



255 
17s 



233 
136 



302 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy 

barb'rous art . . .212 
In simmer when the hay was 

mawn ... . 227 

Is there a whim-inspired fool 132 

Is there, for honest poverty . 158 

It- is na, Jean, thy bonny face 167 

It was upon a Lammas night 265 

John Anderson my jo, John 153 

Lament in rhyme, lament in 
prose 247 

Last May a braw wooer cam 
down the lang glen . . 269 

Let not woman e'er com- 
plain 171 

My curse upon thy venom'd 

stang .... 145 

My heart is sair, I dare na 

tell 262 

My heart's in the Highlands, 

my heart is not here . . 165 
My Lord, I know your noble 

ear 241 

My lov'd, my honor'd, much 

respected friend ! . .57 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er 
sae fair . . . • i73 

Now bank an' brae are 
claith'd in green . . 201 

Now in her green mantle 
blythe Nature arrays . 252 

Now Nature deeds the flow- 
ery lea .... 206 

Now Nature hangs her mantle 
green . . . . • 113 

Now simmer blinks on flow- 
ery braes . . . . 226 

Now westlin winds and 
slaught'ring guns . - 229 

O bonnv was yon rosy brier 205 
O Death ! thou tyrant fell 

and bloody ! . . .88 
Of a' the ai'rts the wind can 

blaw ..... 166 
O ken ye what Meg o' the 

Mill has gotten . . 270 

O Kenmure's on and awa, 

Willie ! . . . .139 



PAGE 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping 

yet? . . . . _. 252 
O leeze me on my spinnin 

wheel .... 261 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou 

glide 144 

O Mally's meek, Mally's 

sweet 194 

O Mary, at thy window be . 155 
O May, thy morn was ne'er 

sae sweet .... 208 
O, my luve's like a red, red 

rose 155 

On a bank of flowers, in a 

summer day . . . 198 
O saw ye bonny Lesley . 156 

O stay, sweet warbUng wood- 
lark, stay .... 228 
O Thou unknown, Almighty 

Cause .... 106 

O thou ! whatever title suit 

thee 122 

O Thou, who kindly dost 

provide .... 222 
Out over the Forth I look t^o 

the North .... 201 
O, were I on Parnassus' hill !' 271 
O were my love yon lilac fair 172 
O, wertthou in the cauld blast 154 
O whistle, and I'll come to 

you, my lad . . .213 
O Willie brew'd a peck o' 

maut ..... 260 
O ye wha are sae guid yoursel 1 10 

Powers celestial, whose pro- 
tection . . . • 151 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent 

her brow .... 257 
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace 

bled 147 

SensibiHty, how charming . 162 
She is a winsome wee thing 153 
Should auld acquaintance be 

forgot . . . .146 

Simmer's a pleasant time . 256 
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie- 

burn 216 

The blude red rose at Yule 
may blaw .... 193 

The bonniest lad that e'er I 
saw 163 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



Z^Z 



The day returns, my bosom 

burns .... 167 

The Deil cam fiddling thro' 

the town . . . '173 
The heather was blooming, 

the meadows were mawn . 192 
Their groves o' sweet myrtles 

let foreign lands reckon . 268 
The lovely lass of Inver- 
ness 263 

The ploughman he's a bonny 

lad 202 

There's auld Rob Morris 

that wons in yon glen . 258 
There's a youth in this city, 

it were a great pity . . 265 
There's nought but care on 

ev'ry ban' . . . .170 
There was a bonny lass, and 

a bonny bonny lass . . 197 
There was a lad was born in 

Kyle 272 

There was a lass, and she 

was fair .... 224 
There were three Kings into 

the east . . . .116 
The simple Bard, rough at 

the rustic plough . . 79 
The smiling spring comes in 

rejoicing .... 204 
The sun had clos'd the winter 

day 93 

The Thames flows proudly 

to the sea .... 204 
They snool me sair, and 

baud me down . . .216 
This Day Time winds th' 

exhausted chain . . 187 

This wot ye all whom it con- 
cerns .... 208 
Thou lingering star, with 

less'ning ray . . .150 
Thou whom chance may 

hither lead . . . 220 



Tho' women's minds like 
winter winds 

True hearted was he, the sad 
swain o' the Yarrow . 

'T was even — the dewy fields 
were green 

'T was in that place o' Scot- 
land's isle .... 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray 
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped 

flow'r .... 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim- 

'rous beastie 
What can a young lassie, 

what shall a young lassie . 
When chapman billies leave 

the street .... 
When chill November's surly 

blast 

When first I saw fair Jeanie's 

face 

When o'er the hill the eastern 

star 

When wild war's deadly blast 

was blawn .... 
Where, braving angry win- 
ter's storms 
Why am I loth to leave this 

earthy scene ? . 
Why, ye tenants of the lake 
Wow, but your letter made 

me vauntie ! . . . 

Ye banks, and braes, and 

streams around . 
Ye banks and braes o' 

bonny Doon 
Ye flowery banks o' bonny 

Doon .... 

Young Jockey was the 

blythest lad . . . 
Young Peggy blooms our 

bonniest lass 



254 
160 



183 

102 

104 

178 

64 

119 

191 

152 

140 

176 

107 
222 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




